


























; 





BY AUSTIN BISHOP 

BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER, IN 
THE LAFAYETTE FLYING 
CORPS 

BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER, IN 
ITALY 

Thrilling stories, excellently written, 
and accurate as to details of aviation, 
of two American boys who became 
fighting pilots. 

Illustrated by John H. Neil. Each $1.75 

HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY 
Publishers New York 













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Again and again Tom fed logs into the flames. 

(Page 98) 




TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


BY 

AUSTIN BISHOP 

*4 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

MORGAN DENNIS v '' 



NEW YORK 

HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY 
1921 




* 1 ? 

'\ V 

\ . , v 


CM 


v\ 


COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY 


HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. 


V 


* • 
• * « 


SEP "6 ' y21 


/ 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 
THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY 

RAHWAY, N. J. 




©CI.A622655 


DOLORES AND SAM 

WITHOUT ADHESIONS 












\ 





















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I 

With the Second Ohio 






3 

II 

The Raiders Start 






16 

III 

Arrested .... 






32 

IV 

Tom Goes Alone . 






41 

V 

Tom Arrives at the Beecham’s 




56 

VI 

On to Chattanooga . 






65 

VII 

In Marietta 






78 

VIII 

The Train Is Captured 






85 

IX 

The Race .... 






97 

X 

“ They ’re After Us!” 






111 

XI 

The Pursuit 






127 

XII 

Speeding Northward . 






136 

XIII 

Fighting with Fire . 






148 

XIV 

The End of the Race 






159 

XV 

Captured .... 






179 

XVI 

Escaping .... 






192 

XVII 

Fighting the River . 






203 

XVIII 

North of the Tennessee 






219 

XIX 

The Last Dash . . . 






232 

XX 

Tom Reports at Headquarters 




244 

XXI 

That Certain Person 

. 





256 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Again and again Tom fed logs into the flames. 

Frontispiece 

FACING 

PACK 

The little ferryboat pitched and turned in the cur- 
rent of the river 76 

The men were feeding the ties they had collected, 
out upon the road through an opening they had 
broken in the rear of the ear 136 

“I didn’t want to come here, Marjorie, for fear I’d 
get you into trouble — - — ” ...... 225 


I 




TOM OF THE RAIDERS 



TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


CHAPTER ONE 
WITH THE SECOND OHIO 

As lie rounded the last bend of the road, Tom 
saw the white tents of the Union army stretched 
out before him. He forgot how tired he was after 
his long walk, and pressed forward eagerly, al- 
most running. The soldiers who were sauntering 
along the road eyed him curiously. 

“Hey, you! You can’t go by here without a 
pass !” The Sentry’s rifle, with its long gleaming 
bayonet, snapped into a menacing attitude. 

Tom stopped abruptly, caught his breath, and 
asked: “Is this the Second Ohio?” 

“Maybe,” answered the Sentry coldly. “What 
do you want to know for?” 

“I’ve come to see my cousin — Herbert Brew- 
ster, of Company B.” 

The Sentry’s position relaxed. He brought his 
rifle to the ground, leaned upon it, and gazed at 
the young man who stood before him. “Well 

3 


4 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

now!” he said. “He’ll certainly be glad to see 
yon ! We don’t get many visitors down this way*. 
What’s yonr name?” 

“Tom Burns.” 

“Going to enlist?” 

“Yes. How’d yon guess it?” 

“Oh, I dnnno. I just thought so. You’re 
pretty young, ain’t you?” 

“Eighteen,” answered Tom. “I’m old enough 
to fight.” He looked past the Sentry, down at 
the even rows of tents which formed the company 
streets of the Second Ohio. His heart beat faster 
at the thought that he would be part of it after 
today. A soldier in the Union army ! 

“I’ll send a messenger with you down to Com- 
pany B,” said the Sentry. “You’ll have to get 
the Captain’s permission before you can see your 
cousin. ’ ’ 

It was early in April, 1862. The troops under 
the command of General 0. M. Mitchel were en- 
camped between Shelby ville and Murfreesboro, 
Tennessee, after a march from Nashville through 
a steady drizzle of rain. It had been a dreary, 
tedious march, made worse by long detours to 
avoid burnt bridges, detours over roads where the 
heavy wagons of the army sank hub-deep in the 
glue-like mud. It had been a fight against the 


5 


WITH THE SECOND OHIO 

rain and mud every inch of the way. And now, 
except for the details of bridge repairing, the 
troops were resting, drying their water-soaked 
knapsacks, and gathering strength for the march 
southward. Rumors of Chattanooga were in the 
air, and the camp was buzzing with talk of 
“MitchePs plan of campaign.” Groups of sol- 
diers stood about exchanging views on what 
would happen next, speculating upon the points 
where they would come into contact with the rebs : 
others were playing games, or lying upon 
blankets spread before their tents, sleeping, read- 
ing and writing letters. The rows of tents gave 
a suggestion of military orderliness to the scene, 
but it was a suggestion only, for the tents and 
their guy ropes were strung with blankets and 
clothing put out to dry. 

Although it was not quite what he had expected 
to see, the camp was wonderful and thrilling to 
Tom Burns. He had expected more military 
pomp and precision ; not simply hundreds of men, 
half-clothed and weather-worn, loitering and 
shifting between rows of tents. Even the tents 
were patched and dirty. But if the scene did not 
compare with the picture he had in his imagina- 
tion — of officers mounted upon spirited horses, 
buglers sounding calls, companies standing at 


i 


6 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


attention — there was a spirit of action and excite- 
ment in the air which made him rejoice. These 
men, who were half-clothed because the only gar- 
ments they had to put upon their backs were tied 
to the guy ropes drying, were hardened cam- 
paigners ; men, roughened and toughened in their 
months of service, pausing a moment before 
battle. The stains and tears of the tents were 
campaign badges. Tom began to feel proud that 
’“his” regiment was not like the new, raw troops 
he had seen in the north — immaculately clean 
troops which had never known a night in the open, 
far from the comforts of barracks. 

He was speechless as the messenger who had 
been detailed by the Sergeant of the Guard led 
him down the regimental street, where the officers’ 
tents faced each company street. Company F 
. . . Company E . . . Company D ... At 
the head of each street was a small penciled sign 
telling them what company they were passing. 
Tom glanced ahead to Company B. In front of 
the officer’s tent two men were talking. 

“Is one of them the Captain!” he asked. 

“Yep — the short one,” answered the messen- 
ger. “The other’s the doctor.” 

“What’s the Captain’s name!” 

“Moffat — Captain Moffat.” 




WITH THE SECOND OHIO 


7 


They stopped a few paces from where the Cap- 
tain and the doctor were standing, and waited. 
Tom hazarded a glance down the street of Com- 
pany B to see if he could catch a glimpse of his 
cousin, but Herbert Brewster was not in sight. 
Presently the Captain turned toward them. He 
was a short man, heavily built, and his manner 
was that of a man who had spent a lifetime com- 
manding soldiers. 

“Well, what is it?” he asked. 

The messenger snapped to attention : he saluted. 
“This man wants to see Herbert Brewster of your 
company, sir.” 

“I’m his cousin, sir,” added Tom. 

The Captain dismissed the messenger with a 
nod. “You’re Corporal Brewster’s cousin, 
eh?” 

“Corporal?” asked Tom. 

The Captain laughed. “I thought that would 
surprise you. Yes, he was made Corporal last 
week. You’ll find him in the third tent on your 
left. I don’t suppose you know that he’s on the 
sick list with a bad ankle?” 

“No!” 

“Yep.” 

“I hope it isn’t serious.” 

“Hm-m-m” — the Captain stroked his chin — 


8 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“no, the ankle isn’t serious, but being on the sick 
list is. Run along and cheer him up. Tell him 
that I’ll be down to see him in a few minutes.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The Captain turned back to the doctor, and 
Tom threaded his way down the street. At the 
third tent he stopped, pulled open the flap and 
peered in. There was Bert, stretched out on his 
bedding, writing a letter. His right ankle was a 
mass of bandages from which his toes peered 
out. He did not look up from his writing. 

“Does Corporal Herbert Brewster of Cleve- 
land, Ohio, live here?” asked Tom. 

“You, Tom! you!” 

“Don’t try to get up on that bad ankle.” He 
rushed over and grabbed Bert’s hand. “How 
are you?” 

“What in the world are you doing at Murphy- 
town ? — or whatever they call this end of the mud- 
puddle. And how are all the people? When did 
you see mother and father last?” 

Tom held up his hands in surrender; then, as 
he sat down on the edge of the bedding, Bert took 
him by the shoulders and shook him. “They’re 
all fine. I’m here to enlist, Corporal. Will you 
have me in your squad?” 

“You bet! Tell me about home.” 


WITH THE SECOND OHIO 9 

Bert had been among the first to enlist, and, 
except for one furlough of two weeks, he had not 
been able to return home. Many minutes passed 
before Tom reached the point of his own depar- 
ture from Cleveland; how he had gained the 
consent of his father and mother to his enlist- 
ment ; his trip to Murfreesboro and all his adven- 
tures and misadventures en route. “And, by the 
way,” he ended, “the Captain said that I was to 
tell you that he’d be here to see you soon. And 
what did you do to your ankle ? ’ ’ 

“The Captain’s coming to see me, eh? Humph! 
A lot of good that’ll do me. Was he talking with 
the doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Humph!” Bert plunged into thought. 

“How about the ankle?” Tom reminded him. 
6 1 What did you do to it ? ” 

“I was on a bridge detail yesterday,” an- 
swered Bert gloomily. “We were loading some 
pilings to be hauled up to a bridge, and I was on 
the wagon, placing them as they were shoved up to 
me. They were all greasy with mud, and I — well, 
I was thinking about some other things, and I 
stepped on a slippery hunk of mud. I went down ; 
then one of the pilings rolled over when my foot 
struck it, and went on my ankle. ’ ’ 


10 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“Gee, that’s hard luck!” 

“I’d just as soon sprain a dozen ankles,” 
answered Bert. “That isn’t the hard luck.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Tom. 

Bert looked at him for a moment, then shook 
his head. “No,” he said. “I can’t tell you. It’s 
something we were planning to do, and” — he 
motioned towards his ankle — “here I am. Per- 
haps I’ll tell you later.” 

The flap of the tent was pushed aside and the 
Captain entered. He stood for a moment looking 
regretfully at Bert. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but 
the doctor says it can’t be done. Too bad !” 

Bert glared at his ankle. “Well, sir, if it can’t 
be done, it just can’t.” 

Tom watched the two men, wondering what 
thoughts were in their minds. What was this 
mysterious plan that was ending so badly? 

The Captain spoke at last: “It’s nice that you 
'have your cousin here to keep you company while 
you’re waiting for your ankle to heal.” 

“He’ll be with me longer than that, Captain. 
He’s come to enlist.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Captain Moffat. He turned 
to Tom. “ I ’ll be glad to have you, my boy ! ’ ’ 

“And I’ll be glad to be with you.” 


WITH THE SECOND OHIO 111 

‘ ‘ Sir ! ’ ’ corrected Bert. ‘ ‘ You ’ll have to learn 
to say ‘sir’ in the army.” 

“Yes — sir!” replied Tom. 

The Captain smiled: “What’s your name?” 

“Burns, sir. Tom Burns.” 

“And how old are you?” 

“Eighteen, sir.” 

“Young,” commented the Captain, “but you 
look strong enough to stand the life.” He put 
out his hand. “I’m glad to have you. We need 
*men these days, and we can always handle a few 
recruits. You can stay here with Corporal Brew- 
ster until you’re assigned to a squad. I’ll have 
some bedding sent down here for you to use until 
you draw your kit. ” He started out, then paused.! 
“Don’t be too disappointed, Brewster. There’ll 
be other chances. ’ ’ 

“Keep me in mind for the first chance, Cap- 
tain.” 

“I’ll promise you that.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Bert. “Do you know; 
who will take my place ? ’ ’ 

“Not yet,” replied Captain Moffat. “I’ll have 
to select a man.” 

He left the tent, his heavy sword clanking as he 
walked. Tom resumed his seat beside Bert.. 


12 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


“What is this scheme of yours, Bert?” he 
asked. “Can’t you tell me? Is it a secret?” 

Bert considered the matter for nearly a minute, 
while Tom watched him intently. “Yes, it’s a 
secret,” replied Bert; then he added, “But I’ll 
tell you.” 

“If it’s a military secret, perhaps you’d better 
not. Of course I wouldn ’t tell anyone, but . . . ” 

“No, it’s all right for me to tell you.” Bert put 
his hand into his knapsack which lay beside his 
bed and pulled forth a map. “Look here.” Tom 
moved up beside him and they spread the map out 
on their knees. 4 4 There ’s a town called Corinth. ’ 9 
Tom pointed with a brown forefinger. “Beaure- 
gard is there. And here is Atlanta, which is 
Beauregard’s base of supplies. Here is Mur- 
freesboro where we’re camped. If Beaure- 
gard’s supplies were cut off between Atlanta and 
Chattanooga, what would happen to Beaure- 
gard?” 

“He’d been in for trouble,” answered Tom. 

“And Chattanooga . . .?” 

“Chattanooga would be flying Mitchel’s flag.” 
Tom’s eyes brightened, and he turned so that he 
could look squarely at his cousin. “But, Bert, 
how were you going to do it?” 

Bert smiled wanly, and left Tom in suspense a 


WITH THE SECOND OHIO 


13 


moment before he answered. Then he glanced 
balefully at his ankle. “Some of ns were going 
into the South, and . . . well, we were simply 
going to do it.” 

“The railroad between Atlanta and Chatta- 
nooga?” asked Tom. 

“You’ve guessed it, but, on your life, don’t 
breathe a word of it.” 

Tom’s eyes opened wide. “Never! And aren’t 
they going to do it now? Just because you’re 
ankle is broken?” 

“They’ll do it, all right,” answered Bert. 
“I’m not that important. There’s only one man 
who is so important that they have to have him.” 

“And who’s that?” 

“The leader — the man who planned it. He 
knows the country. ’ ’ Bert folded the map and put 
it back in his knapsack. 

“I’m sorry about your ankle,” Tom said 
weakly. “With a chance like that!” He whis- 
tled, and leaned back, with his hands clasped 
around a knee, gazing steadfastly at the roof of 
the tent. Bert rested his chin in his hands and sat 
silently, looking at him. Tom’s eyes narrowed 
and his fingers tightened until they were white. 

“Bert ...” he began, then stopped, 

“Yes?” 


,14 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

Their eyes met. Tom leaned forward and 
clutched his cousin’s arm. “Do you think, Bert, 
that Captain Moffat would let me go in your 
place!” 

“I don’t know,” answered Bert. “But we can 
ask. Asking won ’t do any harm. ’ ’ 

“Will you ask him! Will you really!” 

“Do you want to go! Without knowing any 
more about it than that ! ’ ’ 

“More than anything else in the world. Do 
you think he will let me go, Bert! Tell him that 
I’m not afraid — that I can be trusted to carry out 
orders. You know I can do it, don’t you, Bert!” 

“Yes, I know you can do it. And I thought that 
you’d probably want to do it. That’s why I dis- 
obeyed orders and told you. I wanted to give you 
the chance to volunteer. ’ ’ 

“I wonder if the Captain ’ll just laugh and say 
that I’m a raw recruit.” 

“The Captain isn’t that kind of man,” 
answered Bert. “He doesn’t laugh at a fellow 
just because he wants to do something. And 
about being a raw recruit. . . .It’s my opinion 
that he’d rather send a recruit, if he’s a good 
man, than a trained soldier. Trained soldiers 
are too scarce. He was willing to let me go be- 
cause I volunteered months ago for any expedi- 


WITH THE SECOND OHIO 15 

tion that was to be sent ont. When the call came 
for a man from each company, he called me into 
his tent, and just told me that I was going. Of 
course, a man doesn’t have to go. It’s for volun- 
teers only. You know what it might mean if you 
got caught?” 

“That we’d be held as spies. And per- 
haps . . . ?” 

“Yes.” 

They were silent for a moment. 

“Will you ask the Captain now?” demanded 
Tom. 

“You go on up to his tent and ask him if he’ll 
come down here for a minute,” said Bert. 
“You’re absolutely positive that you want to 
go? You wouldn’t rather have me wait until to- 
morrow while you think it over?” 

“ No ! Ask him now, before he decides on some- 
one else ! ’ ’ 

Tom clapped his cousin on the shoulder, hur- 
ried out of the tent and up the company street. 


CHAPTER TWO 
THE RAIDERS START 

“Come with me,” said Captain Moffat, as he 
emerged from Bert Brewster’s tent. Tom had 
been waiting outside, while Bert and the Captain 
were talking. He had recognized several men 
from Cleveland in the company and had tried to 
carry on a conversation with them. But conver- 
sation was impossible. His mind was too full 
of hopes and plans to recall the news from home. 
Now, as he walked up the company street, he 
wondered what the Captain was thinking. Would 
he be allowed to take Bert’s place? He hazarded 
a glance at the Captain’s face, but he could find 
no answering expression there — always the same 
stern mask, from which black eyes flashed. Tom 
could feel his heart pounding as they entered the 
Captain’s tent. 

‘ 4 Sit down, ’ ’ said Captain Moffat, pointing to a 
box. He called his messenger. “I don’t want to 
be disturbed for a few minutes.” 

“Very good, sir,” answered the messenger. 
He stationed himself a few yards in front. 

16 


THE RAIDERS START 


n 

“It strikes me,” the Captain said, as he sat in 
a folding chair directly before Tom, “that you are 
entirely too young to be sent out on such an ex- 
pedition as this. But I like to know that you 
volunteer for it. It gives me a comfortable feel- 
ing to have men in my company who are always 
ready for anything that comes up, who are per- 
petual volunteers for the dangerous jobs.” 

Tom felt his heart sink. Then he wasn’t to be 
allowed to go! This was simply a nice way of 
telling him that he couldn’t! 

“But, Captain,” he said explosively, “I’d 
rather do this than anything else on earth. I am 
young — I’ll admit that — but that’ll make me all 
the more valuable. If it comes to carrying mes- 
sages, I can run for miles without stopping. Why, 
I can move faster and fight harder just because I 
am young! Please give me the chance!” 

The Captain looked at him narrowly.. “You 
really want to go, don’t you!” 

“Yes!” Tom almost shouted. 

“All right,” said the Captain, rising from his 
chair. “You are going.” Tom wanted to thank 
him, but he was speechless. “You will hold 
yourself in readiness for orders.” The Captain 
had become the quiet, stern military man again. 
“You will let it be known that you are here to 


18 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

visit your cousin, and when you leave camp you 
will say that you are returning home.” 

4 ‘Yes, sir.” 

“In the meantime, provide yourself with some 
rough clothes at Shelbyville, and some heavy 
shoes. I will provide you with a revolver. That 
will he all now.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Tom hurried back to his cousin’s tent in a daze. 

The next afternoon at the general store in Shel- 
byville he bought a rough suit, and a heavy pair 
of shoes. “Just wrap the suit up,” he told the 
clerk, “I’ll be in for it tomorrow, or the next 
day. I’ll wear the shoes.” He tramped back to 
Murfreesboro, displayed his pass to the Sentry, 
and went to Bert’s tent. 

“The doctor has been in again,” Bert told him* 
“He says that my ankle will be well in a week or 
so.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Tom. “Look at my pretty 
little shoes.” He displayed the heavy, rough 
boots he had bought at Shelbyville. 

“You ought not to start in those things,” ad- 
vised Bert. “New shoes will cripple you. Here, 
we’ll trade.” He produced a pair which had been 
worn soft in miles of marching. “And here’s a 
waterproof cape for you.” 


THE RAIDERS START 


19 


“No, I don’t want to take your things.” 

But Bert insisted. “I know this sort of life. 
You take ’em and don’t argue.” 

Bert had told him all that he knew of the raid, 
but, as he remarked, “that’s little enough.” None 
of the men who had volunteered knew the details 
of the expedition : they knew only that they were 
to accept orders from an unknown man, follow; 
him blindly and willingly into whatever he might 
lead them. It was to be a raid of great importance, 
a raid that might change the course of the war if 
it proved successful. So great was the secrecy 
that no man knew who his companions were to 
be. All of them, as Tom, were waiting for orders 
to be given without knowing when the orders 
would come, nor what they would be. Tom spent 
hours, when his cousin’s tentmates were away, 
studying the map, memorizing minute details of 
it. 

Orders came on his third day at camp. He was 
clearing away the tin plates and cups from which 
J they had been eating dinner, when the Captain’s 
orderly appeared at the door of the tent. “Cap’n 
*wants to see you immediately. ’ ’ 

Tom and Bert exchanged a glance ; then Tom 
followed the messenger to the Captain’s tent. 

When the messenger had been stationed to; 


20 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


keep intruders away, the Captain said: 4 ‘You will 
leave tonight. Take the Wartrace road out of 
Shelbyville and walk about a mile and a quarter. 
When you come to a fork in the road go into the 
trees and wait until you’re picked up. You 
should be there at eight o’clock. You under- 
stand!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Repeat my instructions.” 

Tom repeated them without fault. 

“Good! Wait here for a moment.” The Cap- 
tain left the tent. He returned presently with 
the Major of the battalion and another Captain. 
From the box where the documents of Company B 
were kept, he produced enlistment papers. For 
several minutes, while Tom stood tense and 
erect, the Captain wrote. The other two officers 
talked in an undertone. 

“Sign here,” said the Captain. Tom signed. 
The Major picked up the paper and glanced 
through it. 

“Hold up your right hand,” said the Major. 
Then Tom heard the oath which bound him to 
serve the United States of America honorably as 
a soldier. 

“I do,” he replied, and let his hand drop to 
his side again. 


THE RAIDERS START 


21 

The two officers signed the papers, shook hands 
with him, nodded to Captain Moffat and left the 
tent. It all happened so quickly that Tom could 
scarcely realize that he was now a soldier. When 
he had entered the tent he was a civilian, bound 
merely by promises of service; now he was a 
soldier, without a uniform, to be sure, but none 
the less a soldier. His eyes dimmed and he 
looked away from the Captain. 

Captain Moffat folded the paper, returned it to 
the box, and faced Tom. He looked at him 
thoughtfully for a few seconds; then placed his 
hands upon his shoulders. 

“Private Tom Burns/ ’ he said softly. “Good 
luck to you. It will be Second Lieutenant Tom 
Burns if this expedition is a success. Good luck, 
my hoy, and may God be with you.” He took 
Tom’s hand and shook it. 

And then Tom found himself walking down the 
street of Company B — a soldier of Company B — 
and he scarcely knew that his feet were treading 
ground. 

There were two men in the tent, talking with 
Bert, and Tom waited impatiently for them to 
leave. 

“Tonight,” he said shortly, as the tent flap 
dropped behind them. 


n TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“Tonight?” 

“Yes.” 

They sat silently until Bert exclaimed, “I envy 
you! You’re the luckiest boy in the world, walk- 
ing right into such a chance as this. ’ ’ 

“I wish you were going.” 

“So do I.” 

Silence overcame them again. 

“I’d better write a letter home,” Tom said pres- 
ently. “I’ll say that I’ve enlisted and let it go at 
that.” 

It was shortly before six o’clock when Tom left 
camp. He went to the store in Shelbyville, 
claimed the suit he purchased two days before, 
and induced the proprietor to let him make the 
change in the back room of the store. He made a 
bundle of the clothes he had discarded, left them 
at the store saying that he would call for them in 
a few days, then went out on the one street of the 
village. It was deserted ; the good citizens of Shel- 
byville were at dinner, and a few soldiers who had 
come to the village to make purchases were hur- 
rying back to camp to be there when mess call 
sounded. In the excitement of his departure Tom 
had forgotten that he must eat, but, with a half- 
hour to spare before starting for the meeting 
place, he returned to the store and stuffed his 


THE RAIDERS START 


23 


pockets with food. Then, with a hunk of cold 
meat in one hand and a slice of bread in the 
Mother, he walked down the village road, eating his 
supper as he went. Near the edge of the village 
he saw two men ahead of him, and he wondered if 
they too were members of the expedition. They 
stopped, leaning against a fence, and eyed him as 
he went by. 

Dusk came, and then darkness. The sky was 
overcast, but occasionally the moonlight flashed 
through a break in the clouds, showing the road 
before him. Walking was difficult, for the half- 
dried mud was slippery, and the broad wheels of 
wagons had made deep ruts. Several times he 
stumbled, and once he wrenched his ankle. He 
made his way more carefully after that, some- 
times feeling out the ground with the toes of his 
boots before he placed his weight forward. The 
thought of being disabled before he had really 
started on the adventure, of going back to camp 
to commiserate with Bert over sprained ankles, 
filled him with dread. The deepest ruts turned 
away from the main road to a farm house: a dog 
barked, and Tom hurried forward. Several hun- 
dred yards further along the road, he thought he 
saw a man who moved behind a tree and hid. 
He did not stop to investigate. 


24 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Tom paused for a moment at the fork of the 
road; then went forward breathlessly. Between 
the bushes which lined the edge of the fork stood 
several tall trees, with their trunks lost in black, 
ragged undergrowth. In the darkness he made 
out a trail. Again he paused, straining for the 
slightest sound. As he took a step forward he 
heard someone say: 

“ Hello, there !” 

He stopped short. “ Hello,’ ’ he gasped; then, 
when he had overcome his surprise, “ Where are 
you ? ’ ’ 

“Just four feet ahead of you.” 

“Who are you?” 

“Brown, Company F, Twenty-first Ohio.” 

“Oh,” — this with relief in his voice — “I’m 
Burns, Company B, of the Second. Are there any 
others here?” He went forward and they tried 
to make out each other’s faces in the dark. 

“No. There was to be a third man with us, 
Andrews said,” answered Brown. “He hasn’t 
come yet.” 

“And who’s Andrews?” asked Tom. 

Brown laughed. “Why, he’s the man who’s 
leading us. The one who’s going to take us 
in.” 

‘ 4 I didn ’t know , 9 7 answered Tom. 4 4 They didn ’t 


THE RAIDERS START 25 

tell me much— except that I was going. That was 
enough. ’ ’ 

“That’s about as much as most of the men 
know,” remarked Brown. “Knight and I were 
the only ones who talked with Andrews. We are 
the engineers.” 

“The engineers!” asked Tom. “What sort of 
engineers!” He heard Brown chuckle. 

“Well, they didn't tell you much, did they? 
Locomotive engineers, of course. We’re going 
to steal a railroad train.” 

“Steal a railroad train!” exclaimed Tom. 

“ Yep ! That ’s what we ’re going to do. ” 

Tom gave a low whistle. 

Brown continued: “We’re going to take a 
train on the Georgia State Railroad. Knight and 
I are to run it, and the rest of you . . . ” 

From down the road came a mumble of voices. 
Brown clutched Tom’s arm and they listened. 
“That’s them!” exclaimed Brown in a whisper. 

One man of the approaching group stepped off 
the road into the fork, while the others waited. 
“Brown,” he called. 

“Right here, sir.” Brown stepped forward, 
and Tom followed. 

“How many are with you!” asked the man. 
“Just one — Burns. The third hasn’t come yet.” 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


26 

“How are you, Burns? I’m Andrews.” He 
groped for Tom’s hand in the darkness, shook it. 
“I wonder where the other man is. Well, it 
makes no difference. We won’t wait for him. 
Come on.” 

They followed him out to where the others were 
standing. 

“This way, men,” said Andrews, starting up 
the road on the left. Brown and Tom fell in be- 
side him. “The rest of you straggle out so that 
you can get off the road quickly if anyone comes.” 
Then, to Brown and Tom: “Perhaps he’s lost, 
or perhaps he’s changed his mind. Three others 
weren’t where I told them to be, hut we’ll get 
along just as well without them. I arranged it 
this way so that if any of you did decide at the 
last minute that you didn’t want to go . . .” 
He did not finish the sentence. Presently he said: 
“I want no men who aren’t anxious to be with 
me.” 

Tom could not see Andrews’ face, but he liked 
his calm, pleasant voice. Conversation stopped, 
except for Brown’s remark, “It looks like rain,” 
and Andrews’ answering, “Hm-m-m. ” For 
several minutes they plodded along the road, 
hidden even from the intermittent light of the 
moon by the trees that grew beside the road. 


THE RAIDERS START 


27 


“Here we are,” said Andrews presently. They 
stopped and waited for the others; then turned 
off the road into a small opening in the woods. 
Andrews went ahead of them, and called back, 
“Come over here.” 

They found him with two men. There came a 
rumble of thunder, so remote that it seemed like 
an echo, but to the ears of Andrews’ men it was 
a sharp reminder of the troubles that might lay 
ahead of them. 

“Hm-m-m! Perhaps you were right, Brown,” 
said Andrews. 

Thunder sounded again, this time nearer. 

“Let’s count heads,” said Andrews. “G-et in 
a semi-circle, just as close together as possible.” 

The men groped about, arranging themselves. 
Tom found himself shoulder to shoulder between 
two of them. Presently they were quiet. An- 
drews’ calm, authoritative voice came again: 
“Starting at this end, give your names and your 
organizations.” 

Then: “Bensinger, Company G, Twenty-first 
Ohio” — “Dorsey, Company H, Thirty- third” — 
“Brown, Company G, Twenty-first” — “Pitten- 
ger, Company G, Second” . . . There were 
twenty of them, not including Andrews. Tom 
found himself between Wilson, Company C, of 


28 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


the Twenty-first Ohio, and Shadrack, Company 
K, of the Second Ohio. 

The thunder sounded again and a few drops of 
rain pattered down. A murmer arose from the 
men. More thunder, and a flash of lightning. 
Another crash, and more rain splashed about 
them. 

“It looks as though we’re in for bad weather, 
men,” said Andrews. “Gather about me so that 
you can all hear what I’m going to tell you.” A 
streak of lightning illuminated the scene as they 
moved forward. Tom caught a glimpse of An- 
drews : a tall man, heavily built, with a long black 
beard. The rain was falling steadily. Tom un- 
slung the cape which Bert had given him and put 
it on. There was a general rustle of capes and 
coats: then silence. Andrews continued: “I 
want all of you to understand that any man who 
wishes to change his mind may do so, and return 
to camp when we leave here. I want only those 
men who are willing and anxious to see this thing 
through, to follow me to the end” — he paused— 
“and that end may well be disaster. You have 
three days and three nights in which to reach 
Marietta, and you may travel as you see fit. Avoid 
forming groups of more than four. The course 
is east into the Cumberland Mountains, then south 


THE RAIDERS START 29 

to the Tennessee River. Cross the river and 
travel by train, from whatever station you come 
to, through Chattanooga to Marietta. I will 
follow the same general course. Be at the hotel 
in Marietta not later than Thursday evening*, 
ready to start the next morning. Have you any 
questions to ask about the route ?” 

There were questions, many of them. Over and 
over again he traced the course they were to 
follow; told them what they might find at certain 
points, what to avoid. 

“I will supply you with all the Confederate 
money you will need. Carry none of our money 
with you.” 

“And if we are questioned?” asked Brown. 
Tom recognized his voice ; then, in another flash 
of lightning he caught a glimpse of his face. That 
one glimpse was to change the course of Tom’s 
adventures. 

“I am coming to that presently,” answered 
Andrews. “Buy whatever you need, and hire 
any sort of conveyance that you may think safe. 
But don’t be lavish with the money I’m giving 
you — it may have to last a long time. It should 
be more than enough, but we can’t tell what will 
happen. Amd now about being questioned: If 
you have to answer questions, say that you come 


30 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


from Fleming County, Kentucky; that you are on 
your way to join the Southern troops. I happen 
to know that no men from Fleming County are in 
the Southern army, and so there will be little risk 
bf meeting anyone from there. And if you are 
asked why you don’t enlist immediately, say that 
you want to join a regiment in Atlanta.” 

4 ‘And if we’re completely cornered?” asked 
one of the men. 

“Then enlist.” 

“In the Southern army?” 

“Surely. Remember, men, that you are play- 
ing a bigger game than your own personal likes 
and dislikes. The idea of enlisting in the South- 
ern army may seem terrible, but it isn’t so terrible 
as being captured and tried as a spy. You can 
desert at the first chance. And remember this: 
upon every one of you depends the success or 
failure of this venture.” 

There was a murmer of approval, then silence. 

Andrews continued: 

“Tomorrow morning General Mitchel starts 
on a forced march. He will surprise and capture 
Huntsville on Friday. Our work is to capture 
the train that same day, destroy communications 
from Atlanta and join him with all possible speed. 
We will try to reach him with our train. Failing 


THE RAIDERS START 31 

that, we will desert the train and join him as best 
we can.” 

Mitchel would move the next morning ! Hunts- 
ville! Chattanooga! For a moment the men 
were silent; then came a sharp “Ah!” The 
long winter campaign was ended; now for action! 

“We will start at once,” said Andrews. A 
crash of thunder drowned his words. “From 
Marietta onwards we will fight it out together.” 

He began to distribute money to them. Several 
groups disappeared into the night. 

“Shall we go together!” asked a man at Tom’s 
right. “My name’s Shadrack.” 

“Yes. Mine’s Burns.” 

“Mine’s Wilson,” said another man. “Let’s 
make it three.” 

“Good!” 

They filed past Andrews, took the handful of 
Confederate money he held out, and started to- 
ward the road. The rain ceased for a few 
seconds ; then came a flash of lightning, a burst of 
thunder, and the rain came swirling down. In an 
instant, Tom and his two companions were utterly 
alone in the black night, headed for the Southern 
lines. 


CHAPTER THREE 


ARRESTED 

“The Union pickets are at Wartrace,” said 
Wilson, as they plodded down the road. 

“We ought to pass them tonight,” Tom added* 
“Have we any way of identifying ourselves?” 

“No,” replied Wilson. “We’d better try to 
avoid them.” 

“What I hope,” remarked Shadrack, with a 
chuckle, “is that our pickets are sleepy — dream- 
ing of a nice warm fire at home, instead of keep- 
ing on the alert. Whew! what a storm!” 

The steady pelting of the rain made conversa- 
tion impossible. The road was becoming a 
slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, 
and they put all their strength into the laborious 
task of walking. Finally, after an hour, they 
stopped to rest. 

“I don’t think we’ve gone more than two 
miles,” said Tom. 

“The railroad track runs along here to the left 
some place,” Wilson remarked. “If we could 
reach it, we’d find better walking.” 

32 


ARRESTED 


“Yon ’ll have to swim to get there,’ ’ muttered 
Shadrack. “Those fields will be mud up to our 
necks.” 

“Be quiet!” Tom whispered. “Someone’s 
coming. ’ ’ 

“Probably some of our own men,” said Wilson. 

They stood silently as two men passed them on 
the road. It was impossible to see them in the 
darkness, but they caught a broken sentence, 
“ . . . find a barn . . . too much mud . . . ” 

“That’s about the best thing that we can do,” 
said Shadrack, after the men had gone by. ‘ ‘ Find 
a barn some place, and stay there for the night.” 

“I’d like to push on,” replied Tom. “What do 
you think, Wilson?” 

“Let’s try to reach the railroad.” 

“All right.” 

Shadrack grunted his assent, and they trudged 
along the road, looking for an opening to the left. 
Presently a flash of lightning showed them a field. 
They climbed the fence and started across. Their 
feet sank in mud that seemed bottomless, and 
water oozed in over their shoe-tops. 

“Can you make it?” asked Wilson. 

“Yeh — go on,” answered Tom, panting. 

“I’m coming,” muttered Shadrack. 

It took them a half-hour to cross the field; then 


34 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


they sat on the fence exhausted. No lightning 
came to show them the way, so they climbed the 
fence, crossed another road, and entered a second 
field. The mud here was worse. 

“Bogged!” exclaimed Shadrack. 

They retreated to the road. 

“Let’s follow this road,” suggested Tom. “It 
seems to go in the general direction of the rail- 
road tracks.” 

“Probably goes to a farmhouse,” replied 
Wilson. 

“Suits me exactly,” said Shadrack. 

During the next twenty minutes they made their 
way slowly along the road, slipping in the mud, 
sometimes falling. Twice Tom went down on his 
hands and knees. Shadrack sprawled face down- 
ward, and got up muttering something about 
“eating the filthy stuff.” 

Ahead of them a dog commenced to bark ; then a 
door opened, and a man stood looking out. 

“Call your dog off,” yelled Wilson. 

“Who are you, and what do you want?” de- 
manded the farmer. The dog continued to bark, 
but he did not approach them. 

“We’re on our way to Wartrace,” answered 
Wilson, “and we’re lost in the storm. Can you 
give us a place to sleep?” 


ARRESTED 


35 


“Are you soldiers?” 

"Wilson paused a moment, then answered, 
“No.” 

“Come on up here then, and let’s look at ye,” 
answered the farmer. “Here, Shep, shut up 
that barking! Come here!” 

They saw the dog curl up at its master’s feet, 
and they went forward. 

“How far are we from Wartrace?” asked Wil- 
son, as they approached the door. 

“ ’Bout two miles,” answered the farmer. 
“Wait there, and I’ll take a look at ye.” He 
reached to one side and took a lamp. Then, 
shielding his eyes from the light, he held it up 
and glanced from one to the other. The dog 
came toward them, whining and growling. 
“Shut up, Shep. All right — come on in.” 

They entered the shanty. In one corner of the 
room a dilapidated stove was glowing; in another 
corner there was a bed, made of rough boards, 
with a pile of dirty bedding on the straw. A 
table and one chair completed the furniture.. 
Near the door some farm implements we’re 
stacked. A rusty, battered pan on the floor caught 
the water that dripped in through a leak in 
the roof. 

Now, for the first time, the three adventurers 


36 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


had an opportunity of seeing each other. Tom, 
as he took oft his cape and water-soaked coat, 
glanced first at Wilson, then at Shadrack. Wilson 
was a tall man, nearly forty, with a serious face. 
His mouth was stern, and he had sharp gray eyes. 
Shadrack was short and plump. He was still 
blowing and puffing from his exertions in the mud, 
but he laughed as he took out a handkerchief and 
wiped his face. He had, in truth, been eating mud, 
for his face was streaked with it. “Had my 
mouth open when I fell, ’ ’ he explained. 

The farmer stood at the door, watching them 
silently as they took off their shoes and put them 
by the stove. Finally he asked, “What are you 
going to Wartrace for?” 

Tom had been wondering what story they had 
better tell him. They were still north of their 
‘own lines, even though they were in enemy coun- 
try, and he felt that there might be some danger 
in saying that they were on their way to join the 
Southern army. He decided to leave the response 
to Wilson, who, because of his age and experi- 
ence, was the natural leader. But, before Wilson 
could speak, Shadrack replied: 

“We’re from Fleming County, Kentucky, and 
we’re going through the lines to join the Confed- 
erate army.” 


ARRESTED ST 

Wilson frowned and shook his head at Shad- 
rack. 

“So?” asked the farmer. “Goin’ to fight the 
Yanks, eh?” 

“Yep,” answered Shadrack, “an’ we’re goin’ 
to give ’em a good licking! That’s what they 
need! We’ve seen all we want to see of Yanks.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you right now that you’re going 
to waste yer time,” replied the farmer. “An’ 
maybe you ’ll waste more than that. ’ ’ 

Shadrack sat down on the floor near the fire, 
and Tom squatted beside him. 

“You have some pretty bad rainstorms in this 
part of the country, don’t you?” Wilson asked. 

While Wilson was speaking, Tom nudged Shad- 
rack, and muttered, “Be careful — don’t talk too 
much.” Shadrack ’s eyes lighted in puzzled sur- 
prise. 

After a long silence, the farmer spoke: “You 
men better turn around again an’ go back to yer 
homes. Yer folks need you more than the South 
does. The North is going to win this war.” 

In their hearts they were elated to hear a 
Southerner say that their own troops would be 
victorious; but, having told one story, they de- 
cided not to change. 

“No, ’’ said Wilson solemnly, “we must go on.” 


38 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Presently the farmer arose and stretched. 
“I’ll go out an’ see if the chickens are all right,” 
he said, and left the shanty. 

“Don’t be a fool,” said Wilson earnestly* 
“Don’t be a better rebel than the Southerners.” 

“I’m sorry,” replied Shadrack. “That’s what 
we were told to say . . . ” 

“I know,” interrupted Wilson, “but we have 
to be careful in the way we tell that story. For 
one thing, remember that we’re still inside our 
own lines.” 

“Yes,” replied Shadrack ruefully. 

“I think you’d better do the talking for us,” 
suggested Tom to Wilson. “We’ll just agree to 
what you say. ’ y 

“Now, that’s a good idea!” exclaimed Shad- 
rack. “We’ll just nod our heads an’ say, ‘That’s 
right!’ I’ll not say a word after this.” 

A half-hour passed before the farmer returned. 
Without speaking, he took off his boots and coat, 
and lay down on his bed. The others arranged 
themselves on the floor about the stove, and Tom 
blew out the light. The floor was hard, but the 
stove was warm — and they were dry. Sleep came 
almost immediately. 

They were awakened at dawn by the door 
opening, and a man shouting, “Get up there! 


, ARRESTED 39 

Hold your hands up! Strike a light, John- 
son.” 

Tom jumped to his feet. In the half-light of 
morning he saw the glint of a revolver. Wilson 
and Shadrack were beside him, and the farmer 
was sitting on the edge of his bed. They put 
their hands up — all except the farmer. The 
bluish flame of a sulphur match sputtered, then 
grew bright. Three Union soldiers stood before 
them with drawn revolvers, while a fourth lighted 
the lamp. 

“These are the men, I presume, Smith?” asked 
the Sergeant. 

The farmer grunted. 

Tom and Shadrack looked to Wilson to speak, 
but he said nothing. So the farmer had sent word 
to Union troops ! When he had gone out to look 
after his chickens, he had sent a messenger with 
the news that three ardent Southerners were to 
be captured at his house if the soldiers would come 
and get them ! Captured by their own troops ! 

“Pull on your boots,” ordered the Sergeant. 
“Wait a minute ! Look through their clothes and 
see if they’re armed, Martin.” 

The soldier who had lighted the lamp ap- 
proached, and ran his hands through their pock- 
ets. He produced three revolvers and laid them 


40 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


on the table. The Sergeant picked them up, 
glanced at them to be sure they were loaded ; then 
distributed them among the soldiers. 

“That’s all, Sergeant,” said the soldier ad- 
dressed as Martin. 

“All right, get on your boots. You did a good 
night’s work, Smith.” 

“I told ’em they’d better go back home,” said 
the farmer dully. 

Tom, Wilson, and Shadrack sat on the floor pull- 
ing on their heavy, water-laden boots. When they 
stood up, the Sergeant said : i ‘ Call Jim and Max. ’ ’ 
Two more soldiers appeared, making six in all. 

“Two of us to a prisoner. Come on.” 

They left the shanty. The farmer was still sit- 
ting on the edge of the bed, staring at them. 


CHAPTER FOUR 
TOM GOES ALONE 

The rain had ceased. Dawn, flooding above 
the heavy clouds, was at last filtering through, 
and the world rested tranquilly in a bluish, shad- 
owless light. Tom, as he stepped from the 
shanty, with his arms held by two Union soldiers, 
glanced about him in wonderment. This unfa- 
miliar scene, which had been an endless blackness 
the night before, was like a dream country into 
which he was straying half awake. The events of 
the previous day became remote and unreal. He 
paused for a moment, but the apprehensive tight- 
ening of fingers upon his arms made him suddenly 
aware of the fact that he was a prisoner, and he 
fell into step with the soldiers. 

“So you were a-goin’ to fight the Yanks, were 
you?” asked one of them. 

“We’ll talk about that later,” answered Tom. 

“ Tears to me that it ain’t anything I’d want 
to talk about at any time if I was you,” answered 
the other soldier. 

Tom, with his guards, was in the lead; then 

41 


42 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


came Wilson, with Shadrack a few paces behind 
him. The Sergeant was with Shadrack. Tom 
glanced^ back, and his eyes met Wilson’s. There 
was a flash of understanding between them ; then 
Wilson turned to look at Shadrack, as though 
cautioning silence. No one spoke as they picked 
their way along through the ooze of mud in the 
direction of the main road. To their left was 
another shanty, much like the one in which they 
had spent the night, and before the door stood a 
man, with his wife and child, gazing at them 
dumbly. The man was dressed, but the woman 
and child had wrapped tattered blankets over 
them for protection against the cold. Tom, as he 
watched them, reconstructed the drama of the 
night before. They, he thought, were ‘ 6 poor 
whites,” like the man in whose shanty they had 
slept — Smith, the soldiers had called him — and 
their hearts were with the Northern army. Smith, 
when he had left on the pretext of attending to his 
chickens, had probably gone to them, routed them 
out of bed to tell them of the rebels he was harbor- 
ing. The man had dressed and floundered through 
the mud until he came to the Union pickets, 
brought the soldiers back with him to Smith’s 
shanty. That was his service to the Northern 
cause, and he must feel proud now, thought Tom. 


TOM GOES ALONE 


43 


There, huddling together on the doorstep of their 
miserable, rain-soaked hut, they had visible proof 
of having helped the North, of having rendered 
their service. And their pride, lifting them for 
a brief moment from the pitiful squalor of their 
lives, seemed such a fine thing to Tom that he 
hoped they would never know of the mistake they 
had made. He glanced back and saw them still 
watching, silent and motionless. 

When the procession had come to a spot where 
it was hidden both from the shanties and the road, 
Wilson spoke: 

“ Sergeant, I’d like to have a word with you.” 

“All right,” answered the Sergeant. “What 
is it?” 

“Alone, I mean,” answered Wilson. “It’s im- 
portant. I’m not trying to escape. It’s so im- 
portant that I can’t let the rest of your men hear 
it.” 

“You men stand by these two prisoners while 
T hear what th<*reb has to say,” ordered the Ser- 
geant. “Come over here.” 

Wilson went to the Sergeant and talked ear- 
nestly for several minutes. The Sergeant watched 
him narrowly, frowning. A few of Wilson’s 
words drifted over to the others; “ . . . not 
asking you to take my word ... to some person 


44 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


of authority . . . not lose a minute about it 
. . . ” The Sergeant was visibly impressed. He 
tilted his cap and scratched his head; shifted his 
weight from one leg to another; stroked his 
whiskers. Finally, after a brief discussion, they 
came to a decision. 

“This man and I are going to take the wagon,’ ’ 
announced the Sergeant. “We have to get to 
Wartrace as quick as w T e can. You others ’ll have 
to walk. It’ll take too long if we all ride — too 
much of a pull for the horses.” 

There was some grumbling among the guards 
at the prospect of trudging through the mud 
when they had expected a comfortable ride in 
the wagon. However, without understanding 
what it all was about, they accepted the Ser- 
geant’s decision. When they reached the road 
where the wagon was standing, Wilson said to 
Tom: 

“I’ll try and meet you before you get to War- 
trace. Take your time. ’ ’ 

“Yep,” added the Sergeant, “don’t hurry.” 

They saw the wagon, drawn at a trot, disappear 
down the road, the mud spurting out from the 
wheels. Tom and Shadrack exchanged glances 
and laughed. 

“Now I call that extraordinary!” exclaimed 


TOM GOES ALONE 


45 


one of the guards. Then, as if he liked the word, 
he repeated, “Extraordinary!” 

“If we give you our words not to try escaping,” 
asked Tom, “will you let go our arms? You have 
the guns, anyhow. It’ll make walking easier.” 

“All right,” drawled a guard. “That’s a good 
idea.” He turned to the other soldiers, and 
asked, “What do you think? Let ’em walk a 
couple of paces ahead, eh?” It was agreed. 

Tom and Shadrack went ahead, while the guards 
followed, speculating among themselves on this 
new turn of affairs. 

“Wilson is probably going to the officer in com- 
mand and have him rush through a message,” 
said Tom. “I suppose they have a telegraph line 
between Wartrace and headquarters.” 

* ‘ I hope so, ’ ’ replied Shadrack. * 6 1 wonder how 
far the others got?” 

Tom had been wondering the same thing. 
“Probably not much farther than we did,” he 
answered. 

More than an hour later they saw a light buggy 
drawn by two horses approaching them ; then they 
distinguished Wilson and the Sergeant. As the 
horses were reined in, Wilson jumped from the 
buggy. 

“All right,” he said, laughing. Then to the 


46 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


guards, 1 6 Thanks for your company, boys. Let’s 
have our guns.” 

The guards looked at the Sergeant, puzzled. 
“Yep,” said the Sergeant, “give the revolvers. 
These men are all right. The Captain says that 
we’re to forget that we’ve ever seen ’em.” He 
winked at Wilson, then reached out and slapped 
him on the back. 

As the soldiers walked away, Wilson said: “An- 
drews arrived at Wartrace early this morning, 
just after these men left, and told the Captain to 
be watching for any of his men who might get 
caught by the sentries. When I went into the Cap- 
tain’s room, he looked at me and said, ‘ An- 
drews?’ I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ In about two minutes 
I was on my way back. We have to cut down 
along a road about a hundred yards from here. 
I have a pass to get us by the Sentry. We have 
to make Manchester tonight.” 

Without wasting any time in talking, the three 
men hurried to the road that would take them 
past the Union lines and into the enemy country. 
A few minutes later a Sentry challenged them. 
Wilson produced his pass, the Sentry nodded and 
they went forward. 

As they pressed on across the strip of country 
between the Northern and Southern pickets, Gen- 


TOM GOES ALONE 47 

eral Mitchel’s army of ten thousand men broke 
camp. Tents were struck, wagons loaded, knap- 
sacks swung into place . . . and the army 
stretched out to crawl wearily through that sea 
of jelly-like mud towards Huntsville. 

It was early in the afternoon when Tom, Shad- 
rack, and Wilson reached Manchester. They were 
tired and wet, but far worse than being tired and 
wet, they were hungry. They resolved that the 
first thing they should do was forage for food, 
and so they made their way directly to the small 
store in the center of the village. But there was 
little food to be had there. The storekeeper, a 
wizened old man who had lost all interest in sell- 
ing things, told them that they might be able to 
buy something from one of the village people — he 
didn’t know who had food for sale. Perhaps the 
Widow Fry — he indicated the general direction of 
the Widow Fry’s house — might give them some- 
thing. They turned away from the store discon- 
solately. 

“It’s raining again,” remarked Shadrack. He 
turned his round face upward and gazed at the 
sky so solemnly that the others laughed. But 
there was no disputing the fact: the drizzle had 
commenced. To the south, in the direction of 
Chattanooga, the clouds had formed a dark, omi- 


48 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 
nous wall, as though nature were raising a barrier 
to the expedition. 

A man, hurrying to be home and out of the rain, 
came abreast of them. Tom stopped him. 

“Can you tell us where the Widow Fry lives ?” 
he asked. 

“Yes,” answered the man, and he glanced from 
Tom to Shadrack and Wilson deliberately. ‘ ‘ But 
tell me why everyone is going to the Widow 
Fry's?” 

“Everyone?” asked Wilson. 

“Well, three men stopped me 'bout a minute 
ago and asked the same thing,” the man replied. 
“Friends ot yours, maybe?” 

“No,” answered Wilson. It was a truthful 
answer, too, for even if the men belonged to 
Andrews' party, they would not have recognized 
them. “The storekeeper said we could get some- 
thing to eat there.” 

“Just traveling, are you?” persisted the man. 

“So to speak,” replied Wilson. He was deter- 
mined not to risk trouble again, not to say that 
they were on their way to join the Southern army 
until they were well within the Southern lines. 

“Come on, let's be getting in out of the rain,” 
said Tom suddenly. “Don't let's stand here get- 
ting wet. Where is the Widow Fry's?” 


TOM GOES ALONE 


49 


“ ’Fraid of the wet, young man?” asked the 
native of Manchester. 

“Yes,” answered Tom bluntly. 

“Well,” drawled the man. He turned away 
from them sufficiently for Tom to nudge Wilson 
and motion up the street. Andrews was riding 
toward them ! He was mounted upon a tired-look- 
ing bay, whose head drooped from hard riding. 
Andrews looked equally tired, for he sat hunched 
up in the saddle, his cape drawn tightly around 
him and his head bowed. “Y’see that dump of 
trees down yonder?” asked the man. * 4 The 
Widow Fry’s house is just beyond that. Are you 
journeyin’ far?” 

“Thank you,” answered Tom. “No, we’re not 
going far.” They strode away, leaving the in- 
quisitive citizen of Manchester staring after them. 
“The old fool!” Tom exclaimed. “He’d keep us 
there for an hour. I wonder where Andrews is 
going?” He hazarded a glance over his shoulder. 
Andrews was almost up to them. 

“We’d better not speak to him until we’re far- 
ther away from these houses,” said Wilson. 
“When we get down almost to the trees, I’ll hail 
him.” 

They quickened their pace so that Andrews 
would come abreast of them near the Widow 


50 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

Fry’s. Several times Tom glanced back to see if 
Andrews was watching them, but the leader ’s eyes 
seemed never to waver from the pommel of his 
saddle. The village street narrowed down to a 
country road, and the “plock-plock-plock” of the 
horse’s hoofs on the mud sounded directly behind 
them. 

‘ ‘ This is all right,” said Wilson. ‘ 6 Let’s slow 
down.” Then, as the horse came up to them, Wil- 
son said: “ Andrews!” 

‘ ‘ Follow me, ’ ’ Andrews answered. He touched 
his horse with his spurs. The animal was too 
tired to do more than quicken its step, but it car- 
ried Andrews ahead of them rapidly. 

“He didn’t seem surprised,” said Wilson. 

“He knew who we were when he saw us on the 
street, I think,” answered Tom. 

“Good-by, warm food,” wailed Shadrack, for 
they were passing the Widow Fry’s. “Hot 
coffee, a plate full of stew, bread . . 

“Don’t talk about it,” begged Tom. 

“Fried eggs and ham,” continued Shadrack. 

“We’ll put you down and feed you mud, if you 
say another word. Won’t we, Wilson?” 

“If we don’t starve to death first,” Wilson 
replied. 

“Good-by, food,” Shadrack wailed again. He 


TOM GOES ALONE 


51 


picked np a stick from the roadside and com- 
menced to gnaw it; then, surprised because the 
others were not eating, he broke the stick in three 
parts, and said: 4 'Do have some of the nice 
tender steak, Mr. Burns and Mr. Wilson. ’ ’ They 
threw the sticks at him. He ran ahead of them. 
They finished the bombardment with hunks of 
mud, and chased after him, slipping and splashing 
along the road. 

Andrews had dismounted, and they saw him 
leave the road, leading his horse. They followed, 
and found him standing at the horse’s head, wait- 
ing for them. 

1 ‘ How did you fare, men ? 9 9 he asked. After they 
had told him of their adventures, he continued: 
"This rain is bad. I’m afraid of it. If it 
keeps up, General Mitchel will be delayed one 
day, perhaps two days. It will be impossible 
for him to reach Huntsville in time — impos- 
sible.” 

He appeared to be thinking aloud, rather thaii 
talking to them. His head was bowed, and he 
stroked the horse’s neck mechanically. 

"I dare not go back now in hopes of getting into 
communication with General Mitchel. It would 
never do to leave my men scattered about the 
country, waiting for me to return. Do you men, 


52 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


from your experience, think that the General can 
reach Huntsville on Friday ?” 

Wilson was first to answer. “I don’t think so,” 
he said. “Some of the forces might reach there 
in time, but I don’t think the General can concen- 
trate at Huntsville for an attack before Saturday.: 
Not with this mud to wade through.” 

“I agree with Wilson, sir,” said Shadrack. 

The three men turned to Tom. He felt sud- 
denly embarrassed. Three veterans asking him, a 
soldier of one day’s campaigning, for an opinion! 
“From what I’ve heard of General Mitchel,” he 
said, “I think he will do whatever he says he will 
do — even if he has to attack Beauregard’s army 
single handed. ’ ’ Then he added, as though to ex- 
plain away what he had said : 1 ‘ But that is noth- 
ing more than my opinion of the man. I ... I 
enlisted just yesterday.” 

“Yesterday!” exclaimed the three older men. 

“Yes. My cousin was going on the raid, but he 
sprained his ankle. I came to enlist, and I begged 
the Captain to send me.” 

“I see,” answered Andrews, studying him. 
After a moment he plunged again into considera- 
tion of the problems which lay before him. “I 
am going ahead on the theory that Mitchel will 
be one day late in reaching Huntsville,” he said 


TOM GOES ALONE 


53 


at last. "We must find all the men and tell them, 
so that there will be no confusion in Marietta.’ ’ 

''There are three men at the Widow Fry’s back 
there,” said Shadrack. "I don’t know if they’re 
some of ours or not.” 

Andrews nodded. "We’ll find out presently. 
I’m worrying most about our engineers. I think 
I know where I can find Knight, but Brown has 
gone on ahead. Do any of you know Brown!” 

"I do, sir,” answered Tom. "We met at the 
same place last night, and then I got a good look 
at him in the lightning. ’ ’ 

"Hm-m-m! That may help.” 

"Mr. Andrews,” commenced Tom.: 

"Yes! What is it!” 

"If we’re going to delay a day, shouldn’t some- 
one be sent back with a message for General 
Mitchel!” 

"I’ve been considering that,” answered An- 
drews. "Will you volunteer!” 

"No,” Tom answered flatly. "Of course, I’ll 
go if I’m ordered, but I’ll not volunteer.” 

"Hm-m-m . . . well, never mind about that. 
I have some other work for you.” Andrews 
seemed to emerge from a fog of indecision. "I 
want you to take my horse and travel south as 
rapidly as you can. If you come across any of our 


54 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


men who may be ahead of ns, tell them that the 
raid is postponed one day. I — if I can — will get 
word back to the General. I want you to locate 
Brown. I was told that he and the man who is 
traveling with him — I don’t know who it is— man- 
aged to get a ride in a farmer ’s wagon. They left 
here this morning, and the farmer was going to 
take them as far as a village called Coal Mines. 
You’ll probably overtake them, but if you don’t 
find them on the road, go into Chattanooga and 
catch the train for Marietta Thursday. Brown 
will probably catch that train. Tell him about the 
change in plans, and wait in Marietta for us. We 
will be there Friday night. In the meantime, I 
will locate Knight. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Tom. “What shall I do 
with the horse?” 

“The poor brute is just about ready to drop 
now,” replied Andrews. “Ride him as far as 
he’ll carry you, then turn him loose. Throw the 
saddle and bridle into the bushes. It’s after four 
o’clock now. You’d better be getting along.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tom took the reins. 

“Say!” Shadrack broke in, “he’d better have 
something to eat, or he’ll fall off the horse. We 
were just going to the Widow Fry’s to persuade 
her to give us a meal.” 


TOM GOES ALONE 


55 


Andrews reached into his pockets, and drew 
forth two paper packages. ‘ 4 Here’s some bread 
and meat. I’m sorry I haven’t anything more, or 
anything better. You can eat it while you ride.” 

Tom thanked him and mounted the horse. 
“Good-by, sir. Good-by, Wilson and Shadrack. 
Luck to you. ” He turned the horse into the road, 
and started southward. Now he was alone, with 
the South before him. 


I 


CHAPTER FIVE 


TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM’S 

Wednesday dawned in a drizzle of rain. It had 
seemed to Tom, riding through the long night on 
a horse whose legs trembled at every step, that the 
dawn would never come ; that the world had been 
conquered by the downpour. At least it had 
seemed so until the monotony of the rain and cold 
deadened his senses, allowing him to fall into a 
doze. 

He straightened in the saddle, and stretched. 
A chill seized him, and he commenced to shiver 
violently. His clothes were wet and heavy. 

“This won’t do,” he said aloud, with his teeth y 
chattering. At the sound of his voice the horse 
pricked up his ears feebly. “Poor fellow! 
You’re just about ready to drop, aren’t you?” 
He reined in, stroking the horse ’s shoulder ; then 
dismounted. For a few seconds he clung to the 
saddle, supporting himself; his numbed legs re- 
fused to hold him until he brought them to life 
by stamping and kicking. Even then he was none 
too sure of his step. 


56 


TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM’S 57 

“Poor boy!” he said to the horse. “It’s been 
a hard trip for yon. Poor boy! Here, let's take 
that bit out of your mouth and see if you can find 
something to eat. There's not much around here, 
is there?'' The horse commenced chewing at 
some weeds which had sprung up along the road- 
side. Tom pulled out the sodden remains of the 
food Andrews had given him, gave the bread to 
the horse and ate the meat. Then, leading the 
horse, he walked along the road. He had passed 
Coal Mines shortly after midnight, but without 
coming upon Brown. Probably, he thought, 
Brown and his companion had found a house or 
barn in which they were spending the night, which 
meant that he was ahead of them and would be in 
Chattanooga when they arrived. 

A half-hour later he tried to remount, but the 
horse was too exhausted to bear his weight. They 
rested for a few minutes and then walked for 
another half-hour. Several times the horse 
stumbled. When they stopped to rest again, the 
horse braced his legs as though it took all his 
strength to stand. His head was hanging, and 
his eyes were dull. 

“Poor fellow,'' Tom repeated. “It’s cruel to 
make you do this, but I can't leave you here.” If 
he had to abandon the animal, he wanted to leave 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


68 

him where there was some chance of finding food. 
Here there was nothing. 

They pressed on again, walking for a few min- 
utes, then resting. It was nearly seven o’clock 
when they came to a big house, standing several 
hundred yards from the road. Tom turned up 
the driveway. Presently the odor of frying 
bacon came to his nostrils, and he felt faint and 
dizzy. 

“Lan’ sakes alive,” exclaimed the negro 
woman who came to the door. “Lan’ sakes, have 
you all been out in this rain storm. Jasper!” 

“Yas’m,” came the answer. A little negro boy 
appeared from around his mother ’s skirts. 

“Take this gentleman’s horse ’round to de 
stable. Come right in, sir.” 

“Thank you,” answered Tom wearily. “Can 
you give me something to eat ? ’ ’ 

“Yassir. You come right in.” 

“I’d better unsaddle the horse first, mammy,” 
replied Tom. 

“Jasper, you tell yo’ pa to unsaddle this gentle- 
man’s horse. You come right in here, sir. I’ll 
tell the white folks.” 

Tom needed no second urging. He entered the 
big kitchen, his stomach wrenching and aching at 
the odor of food. “Don’t bother about telling 


TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM’S 59 

the white folks that I’m here, mammy,” he said. 
“Just give me something to eat. I’m starv- 
ing.” 

“Yassir, yassir,” replied the old woman, “but 
a kitchen ain’t no place for white folks to eat. 
I’ll just run an’ tell Mr. Beecham you all is here.” 
She disappeared through the door leading to the 
back part of the house. 

Tom decided that it was no time for ceremony. 
On the table lay a loaf of bread — the colored 
woman had been slicing it when he knocked — and 
in the pan sizzled a dozen slices of bacon. In less 
than five seconds, Tom was eating a bacon sand- 
wich. And he was halfway through the second 
sandwich when the colored woman came back to 
the kitchen. 

“Sakes!” she exclaimed. “I guess you is suh- 
tainly hungry. Mr. Beecham he’s coming right 
away. ’ ’ 

Mr. Beecham proved to be an elderly, stern- 
faced gentleman. He stood in the doorway gazing 
at Tom. 

“Well, sir,” he said at last. “Do you prefer 
my kitchen to my dining-room, sir?” 

“No, Mr. Beecham, I don’t,” answered Tom. 
“But in these clothes, wet to the skin, it would 
be an intrusion to go farther than the kitchen.” 


60 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


It was an answer that Mr. Beeeham appreci- 
ated. Tom was glad that the last evidences of the 
stolen bacon sandwiches had disappeared down 
his throat. He stood waiting for Mr. Beeeham 
to speak — and wondering if he was to be invited 
for breakfast. 

“Will yon come with me, please ?” asked Mr. 
Beeeham. They passed through a corridor, and 
into the big entrance hall, where logs were blazing 
in a fireplace. “In these days,” continued Mr. 
Beeeham, “it is customary to ask people who they 
are. You understand, I trust.” 

“Certainly, sir,” said Tom. “My name is 
Thomas Burns, and I’m from Fleming County, 
Kentucky. I ’m on my way to Atlanta to enlist. ’ ’ 
He had been bracing himself for the past minute 
to tell that story, and it came smoothly, convinc- 
ingly. For a moment after it was out, he hated 
himself. 

Mr. Beeeham pursed his lips and nodded. “Ex- 
cellent ! ” he exclaimed. “Will you be my guest at 
breakfast, sir?” 

“Thank you, sir,” Tom replied. “But in these 
clothes ...” 

“I daresay we will be able to find other clothes 
for you. If you will come with me?” 

“First I’d like to go to the stable and see my 


TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM’S 61 

horse. I gave him a hard ride last night to put 
distance between me and the Union pickets.” 

“Certainly.” Mr. Beecham called another col- 
ored boy, who guided Tom to the stable. There 
he found his horse munching hay, wearily but 
contentedly. The stableman approached, armed 
with grooming implements. 

“ That’s good,” said Tom. “Give him a good 
grooming, and a blanket. Then, in a half-hour, 
give him a feed of oats.” 

“Yassir.” 

He slipped a dollar into the negro’s hand, and 
left him beaming. 

Mr. Beecham escorted him to a room upstairs, 
where, with the aid of another negro servant, 
they found clothes to replace the wet things he 
was wearing. They left him to wash and 
dress. 

“We will have breakfast just as soon as you 
are ready,” said Mr. Beecham as he closed the 
door. 

Tom wondered if all these negroes were slaves. 
He had seen an occasional negro in the North, but 
of course they were freed. He had expected to 
find them different; less cheerful, perhaps, and 
carrying an air of oppression. And it disturbed 
him slightly not to find them so. 


62 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Mr. Beecham had provided him with a suit of 
his own clothes. They were about the same size, 
hut a suit cut for a man of more than fifty looks 
strange on a boy of eighteen. Tom glanced at 
himself in the mirror and laughed. However, it 
was part of the adventure he had been tossed 
into. 

As he left his room and started down the stairs, 
the chatter of women’s voices struck his ears. 
Then he saw two women standing with Mr. 
Beecham before the fire. One of them was elderly, 
and the other was a girl — about his own age, Tom 
thought. She was strikingly pretty, standing 
there in the glow of the fire, glancing up out of the 
corners of her eyes, as though she could not re- 
strain her curiosity. 

“May I present Mr. Burns, my dear,” said 
Mr. Beecham. ‘ 6 My wife and my niece, Miss Mar- 
jorie, Mr. Burns.” 

Tom bowed, muttering “Mrs. Beecham, Miss 
Marjorie.” When he caught the girl’s eyes, he 
saw a twinkle of amusement. Then he remem- 
bered his clothes, and he blushed. The formal- 
ities of introduction over, they turned to the din- 
ing-room, where two negro girls were already 
arranging breakfast. It was a feast : coffee, hot 
cakes, eggs . . . everything that Shadrack in 


TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM’S 63 

his wildest moments of hunger could have dreamt 
of. 

Mr. Beecham’s conversation about the war, 
conditions in the South, his hatred of the North 
and the abolitionists, occupied most of Tom’s 
attention. It was difficult to play the role of 
Southerner ; he wanted to protest against some of 
the things the older man said. There was slight 
opportunity for him to reply, however, and so he 
simply nodded, apparently agreeing heartily. 

“Did you ride far last night ?” asked Miss 
Marjorie finally. 

“From Wartrace,” he said. “I came through 
the lines there.” 

“And weren’t there any Union sentries?” 

“I didn’t stop to investigate.” 

Mr. Beecham broke in upon their conversation.' 
at that point with some observations of his own 
upon the subject of Northern politics. Then he 
drifted to war manoeuvers: “I tell you, Beaure- 
gard will smash that man Mitchel to a million 
pieces. Mitchel is so frightened that he dares 
not move. Whichever way he moves, he is lost. 
He is trapped like a man at chess. The best thing 
he can do is to surrender before he loses his 
troops. He dares not move. ’ ’ 

And Tom was thinking to himself: “How sur- 


64 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


prised you’d be if you knew that Mitchel was 
moving this very minute.” 

Mitchel was moving. Under the weight of 
their water-soaked equipment, his men were plod- 
ding wearily through the mud, marching slowly 
and steadily upon Huntsville. While Tom had 
been riding through the night, Mitchel *s men 
had slept on the flooded ground between Shelby- 
ville and Fayetteville. Now they were prying the 
heaving wagons from the mud holes, while the 
cavalry swept out on the flanks to clear the coun- 
try of enemy scouts. Skirmishers were advanc- 
ing through the woods and over the hills, protect- 
ing the troops, with their thousands of wagons 
and guns, from surprise attack. General 
Mitchel, riding through the drizzle, announced to 
his aides: “Regardless of the weather, we will 
attack Huntsville Friday.” 

Even Andrews, underrating Mitchel’s relent- 
less determination to do what he said he would 
do, if all the forces of the weather were against 
him, thought himself safe in delaying the raid at 
least one day. 


CHAPTER SIX ’ 

ON TO CHATTANOOGA 

“I must leave, sir, as soon as my horse is fit to 
travel,’ ’ replied Tom to Mr. Beecham’s ques- 
tions regarding his plans. “That will give me 
more than enough time if the ferry is running, and 
just enough time if I must follow the river to the 
Chattanooga ferry.” 

Mr. Beeeham’s house was only ten miles from 
the town, figured on the map; but the weather 
made map figuring hazardous. The Tennessee 
River had mounted to a torrent under the contin- 
ual rains, and the ferries which customarily pro- 
yided short-cuts were, for the most part, not 
operating. Tom gathered) that information at 
breakfast. He had no intention of trying to cross 
at the Chattanooga ferry, for the Confederate 
guards there would be dangerously strong, and it 
remained to find some ferryman who could be 
bribed to risk the trip. That might take time. 

“I’ll look at your horse while I’m out,” said 
Mr. Beecham. He was preparing, regardless of 
the storm, for his usual walk about his estate. 

65 


66 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


He went out, and Mrs. Beecham turned to her 
household duties. Miss Marjorie land Tom were 
alone, standing before the blazing fire in the hall. 
There was still that disconcerting twinkle of 
amusement in her eyes. 

“I suppose I do look funny,’ ’ he said, glancing 
down at his clothes. 

‘ i It’s not kind of me to laugh,” she replied. 
“Were you very wet?” 

“As wet as one person can possibly be. I ab- 
sorbed at least half of the rainstorm between 
Wartrace and here. No more water would stick 
to me — it just rolled off, finally.” 

“I don’t think I should like being a soldier,” 
she said. “Do you?” 

“I haven’t tried it. I’m just beginning.” 

‘ ‘ Do you want to fight ? ’ ’ 

“It isn’t a question of wanting to fight,” he 
replied. “It’s a question of duty.” 

“Oh.” She sat down and he took a chair be- 
side her. “But you were out of it. No one would 
have said that it was your duty to run the danger 
of going through the Union pickets.” 

He wished that she would not talk about the 
war. It was unpleasant, this lying to a girl. 
With Mr. Beecham it was different. Then he re- 
membered that she had said “Union pickets,” 


ON TO CHATTANOOGA 67 

instead of “ Yankee pickets.’ ’ It struck him as 
strange, coming from a Southern girl. 

“Tell me about your home,” she asked. 

Ke gave a rather sketchy description of his 
imaginary home in Fleming County, Kentucky — 
a none too convincing description. Then he tried 
to change the subject by asking her if she had 
always lived with the Beechams. 

“No — not always,” she answered. “Is Flem- 
ing Cou ...” 

“And is your name Beecham?” he interrupted, 
anxious to avoid the subject of Fleming County. 

“My name is Landis,” she answered. “Mar- 
jorie Landis. Is Fleming County very large?” 

“No — no. Not very large. And where did you 
live before you came here ? ’ ’ 

“With mother.” It seemed to be her turn for 
evasion. “I presume,” she continued, “that you 
know all the people in the county?” 

He wondered if, by some chance, she knew 
people there, if she was going to pin him down to 
persons and definite places in Fleming County. 

“No, indeed,” he answered. “You see, I 
haven’t been there all the time.” 

“I never was very good at geography,” she 
began apologetically. “Where is Fleming 
County?” 


68 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“Oh, it is in the southern part of the state ,’ 9 
he said. He decided to study the first map he 
could get his hands upon. 

“Let’s do as we used to do in school,” she said* 
“Bound Fleming County for me.” 

Tom decided that he hated all girls, and Miss 
Marjorie Landis in particular. She had trapped 
him, easily and pleasantly. 

He forced himself to laugh, and the laugh 
sounded mirthlessly in his ears. “Oh, I’ve for- 
gotten,” he said. “I can’t remember what coun- 
ties are around us there. I wonder when this rain 
will stop ? We ’ll have to build us an ark if it keeps 
on much longer. Wouldn’t a war on an ark be a 
strange thing? The ark would keep turning in 
the current — the North would become the South 
and the South would become the North, and so 
rapidly that we wouldn’t know which side we 
were fighting on. Do you think we’d have to stop 
and change uniforms every time the ark turned?” 
He arose and went to the window. “I wonder if 
my poor horse is getting rested? It’s a pity to 
ride him again this afternoon. Perhaps I’d better 
go out and see him.” 

She, too, arose. “Never mind about the horse, 
Mr. Burns,” she said. “You’d much better be 
studying geography! Wait here a moment.” 


ON TO CHATTANOOGA 


69 


She turned and ran up the stairs. Tom, his 
head pounding, watched her disappear. What 
was she going to do, now that she had trapped 
him? Of course she knew that he had not been 
telling the truth. Presently she returned with a 
book under her arm. Scarcely glancing at him, 
she approached, opened the book — it was a geog- 
raphy — turned the pages to a map of Kentucky. 

‘ ‘ There !” she said. He looked at her, rather 
than the book. “No — study it.” 

He did as she bade him — and found Fleming 
County in the north-eastern part of the state. It 
had been a bad guess. Then he glanced at the 
names of the counties surrounding it. 

‘ 6 But why . . . 9 9 he began. 

“Give me the map!” she demanded. “Now can 
you remember them!” 

“But ...” 

“Please! Say them — the counties!” 

“Lewis, Carter, Morgan, Bath, Nicholas, Ma- 
son. ’ 9 

As the door opened and Mr. Beecham entered, 
they turned. “Mr. Burns has been showing me on 
the map where he lives,” said Miss Marjorie 
sweetly. 

“Ah, yes— ah, yes,” answered Mr. Beecham. 
“Ah, yes, indeed.” 


70 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Tom scarcely heard him, or saw him. 

i ‘ Your horse will be ready to carry you in a 
few hours, I think/ ’ said Mr. Beecham. 4 4 You 
must have ridden him easily, sir.” 

“I didn’t press him harder than was neces- 
sary,” responded Tom. 

“I tell you,” announced Mr. Beecham, divest- 
ing himself of his storm coat, “it takes a Southern 
man to get the most out of horse flesh, without 
hurting the horse. A good reason for the superi- 
ority of our cavalry! I trust you are going to 
join the cavalry.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Tom. He was thoroughly 
sick of deception. At that moment, if he could 
have found an adequate excuse for departure, he 
would willingly have walked the remaining dis- 
tance to Chattanooga — and swum the river in the 
bargain. 

Mr. Beecham settled himself before the fire. 
“I’ve not known many gentlemen from Ken- 
tucky,” he announced. “For the most part I 
stay at home, and we have few travelers along 
this road. There was a Mr. Charles, of Floyd 
County. Isn’t that just east of Fleming 
County!” 

“No,” answered Tom, “Carter County is on 
our east.” He glanced at Miss Marjorie. She 


ON TO CHATTANOOGA 71 

was watching him intently, alive to the dangerous 
ground he was treading. 

“All, yes,” answered Mr. Beecham, “so it is 
— so it is. Let me see the geography a moment, 
dear.” Miss Marjorie gave him the book, opened 
to the map of Kentucky. “Quite so — quite so. 
Floyd County is here.” He pointed. 

“Yes,” answered Tom. “Does there seem to 
be any chance of the storm ending, sir?” 

The weather provided a safer subject of con- 
versation, which lasted for nearly a half-hour. 
Then Tom became intensely interested in Mr. 
Beecham ’s estate, and the difficulties of handling 
crops in war time. Miss Marjorie sat near them, 
sewing. Tom would have given everything he 
possessed for two minutes alone with her. Why 
was she befriending him? He asked the question 
over and over again. 

It was decided that one of Mr. Beecham ’s ser- 
vants should go with Tom to the ferry landing. 
The servant, carrying a note from Mr. Beecham 
to the ferryman, would show him the way, and, 
more than that, it would be additional proof to 
the ferryman that Mr. Beecham was especially 
desirous of Tom’s being taken across the river. 
“Then I’ll know if old Jones who runs the ferry 
does as I tell him to do,” explained Mr. Beecham. 


72 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


i i They don’t like to cross when the river’s high.” 

Dinner was served, and still Tom had no oppor- 
tunity to speak with Marjorie alone. The glances 
they exchanged were charged with meaning — but 
it was an unexplainable meaning. Several times 
as he pondered over it, Tom lost the thread of Mr. 
Beecham ’s remarks, and had to grope for the 
right answers. 

“Your horse will be ready for you in a few 
minutes,” said Mr. Beecham as they arose from 
the table. 

“And your clothes are dried and in your 
room,” added his wife. 

It was time to be going. He mounted to his 
room, changed into the rough suit he had bought 
in Shelbyville, and forced his feet into his soggy 
shoes. They were waiting for him before the fire 
as he came down. After a moment, Mrs. Beecham 
left them. Tom hoped desperately that Mr. 
Beecham would do likewise. 

“I’ll see if Sam is bringing your horse,” he 
said. 

Tom’s eyes met Marjorie’s as the older man 
entered the next room, where he could look out 
toward the stables. He had no sooner disap- 
peared than Tom asked in a low voice : “Why did 
you do that?” 


ON TO CHATTANOOGA 


73 

“You’re not a Southerner, are you?” she 
asked. 

“No,” he answered bluntly. “But what . . .?” 

“I’m not either,” she replied. Her eyes 
glowed with excitement. “I’m from Albany . . 

They were interrupted by Mr. Beecham’s re- 
turning. “The horse is coming,” he announced. 
Mrs. Beecham entered the room. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said 
Tom. 

“It has been a pleasure,” replied Mrs. 
Beecham. 

“A pleasure, sir — a pleasure,” responded her 
husband. 

Tom’s dislike for the deception he was practis- 
ing made him want to run from the house. For 
the moment he hated the idea of the expedition.. 

He put out his hand to Marjorie. She gave him 
a cool, firm clasp, and looked straight into his 
eyes. “I wish you the best of luck for everything 
you undertake,” she said slowly. 

“Thank you,” he replied. “I’ll need luok.” 
Her hand gave his a quick pressure. Once again 
the railroad raid became a great, thrilling adven- 
ture in which he was to play a part. 

He bowed and left the house. 

“Sam!” called Mr. Beecham. 


74 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“Yassah!” answered the negro boy who was 
mounted upon another horse. 

“You stay there until this gentleman is across 
the river.’ ’ 

“Yassah.” 

Tom mounted and they started down the road. 
He looked back, saw Marjorie at the window, and 
waved. She answered him. 

Despite the rain which beat in their faces, Tom 
studied the country through which they were pass- 
ing, and asked the negro boy innumerable ques- 
tions. But he found his mind slipping back con- 
stantly to Marjorie. A Northern girl in the 
South! Surrounded by “rebs” but still true to 
her country! And she wished him luck! 

“Whose place is that?” asked Tom, pointing 
to a small house which was almost hidden from 
the road by trees. 

An expression of dislike came over the negro’s 
face. “Mistah Murdock’s,” he answered. 

“A farmer?” 

“No, suh,” replied the negro. The expression 
of dislike changed visibly to repugnance and fear. 
*He added : “ He keeps dawgs ! ’ ’ 

There was no need to ask more. The negro’s 
tone was sufficient. Dogs! There was only one 
reason why a man made a business of keeping 


ON TO CHATTANOOGA 


75 


dogs — to chase escaping slaves. The thought was 
horrible to Tom, and he turned away. 

They found the ferryman in his shanty, hugging 
a stove. 

“No crossing today/ ’ he announced. “Look 
at that there river. No crossing today. Besides 
that, it’s forbidden by the law. No Sentry, no 
crossing.” 

That was good news! No Sentry! “Mr, 
Beecham thought that you would take me across,” 
said Tom. “Sam, give him Mr. Beecham’s note.” 

“Yassuh.” Sam produced the note. 

The ferryman read it, scratching his head, 
“That man’ll be my death yet,” he said. “Take 
a horse across today? No, sir! I’ll take you 
across if you and the nigger’ll handle oars, but 
not the horse ! No, sir! It’s against the law, any- 
ways. No Sentry, no crossing. No, sir! I’ll 
risk the river an’ the law, just because Mr. 
Beecham asks it, but I can’t take that there nag.” 

“Well, then we’ll leave the horse behind,” an- 
swered Tom. “I can pull an oar. Can you row, 
Sam?” 

The negro backed against the wall, shaking his 
head, terrified at the thought of the rough cross- 
ing. 

“Just like all of ’em,” said the ferryman. 


76 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“When there’s any danger, don’t count on them « 
Mr. Beecham treats his niggers too easy, any- 
ways. I always say if he’d lick ’em they’d be 
better.” 

“He’s pretty easy with them, is he?” asked 
Tom. 

“Treats ’em as though they were prize stock,” 
answered the ferryman in disgust. “I guess you 
and I can get across, ’ ’ he grumbled. 4 ‘ Two white 
men ’re better ’an a dozen of ’em.” 

“Sam, you take my horse back to Mr. Beecham. 
I’ll write a note for you to carry.” Tom wrote 
a message, explaining that the horse could not 
be ferried across, and asking that it be disposed 
of in any manner that suited Mr. Beecham ’s con- 
venience. 

The little ferryboat pitched and turned in the 
current of the river. Tom, swinging on his big 
oar in answer to the ferryman’s cries of “Ho!” 
“Now!”, saw the other bank creeping nearer. 
At last they cleared the full flood of the stream. 
On the other shore, Sam stood open-mouthed, 
watching them. 

It was eight o’clock that evening when Tom, 
soaked to the skin again, cold, hungry, and tired, 
tramped into the little town of Chattanooga. A 
few lamps shone through the windows into the 



The little ferryboat pitched and turned in the current of the river. 

















. - 

■ 















































































' 
















































. 


' 

* 






































■ - v % 3 


ON TO CHATTANOOGA 77 

deserted street, making dull splotches of yellow in 
the mist. Three or four people passed him, hur- 
rying to he out of the storm. 

He stopped one man and asked: “ Where can I 
find a hotel !” Then he gasped as the man 
straightened and ;threw hack the icoat he had 
thrown over his head and shoulders: it was a 
Confederate soldier! 

“That’s about as good as any place,” answered 
the Confederate, pointing across the street. 
“Where you see the two lights burning. ” 

“Thank you.” 

“Welcome.” He pulled the coat about his face 
again and disappeared into the storm. 

Tom crossed the street to spend his first night 
behind the Confederate lines. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


IN MARIETTA 

Tom awoke dazed from twelve hours of sleep. 
For a moment he could not remember where he 
was; then it flashed across his mind. In Chat- 
tanooga ! He sprang from bed, dressed and went 
downstairs. It was late, but the proprietor of 
the hotel gave him breakfast, after some grum- 
bling about people who had nothing to do but 
sleep. 

The train from Marietta did not leave until two 
o’clock, and as the hotel clock had just struck 
ten, Tom began to wonder what he should do with 
himself. For a half-hour he sat in the hotel 
watching the people who passed in and out. The 
sight of so many young men in civilian clothes re- 
assured him, for it meant that there was less 
chance of being questioned by the military author- 
ities. Finally he went out to the street. The rain 
had stopped, and the sun was struggling through 
the clouds. 

There were crowds of civilians and soldiers 
upon the narrow sidewalks, and through the 

78 


IN MARIETTA 


79 


streets lumbered the heavy wagons of the South- 
ern army. Tom walked along slowly, scanning 
the faces of the people he passed, hoping to catch 
a glimpse of Brown. Finally he reached the 
station. 

A train had just come in, and the station was 
crowded with passengers, struggling out with the 
bags and packages, and townspeople who had 
come to get the news. Tom listened closely to the 
chatter. The train was from Memphis and had 
passed over the line which Mitchel was about to 
attack. There was no suggestion of excitement 
or activity along the route. Then the news of 
Mitchel’s movement had not advanced before him, 
thought Tom. To him, that was the best news in 
the world. Mitchel’s plans were successful. 

He followed the crowd from the station and 
once again began wandering about the streets. 
Not far away was a big shed labeled Commissary 
Department. The army wagons were backed 
up to a loading platform, and Confederate soldiers 
were busy transferring boxec of supplies. By this 
time Tom had lost the first sense of strangeness at 
being in the enemy country, and so he went over 
to watch the soldiers work. 

Presently it was noon, and time for dinner. He 
returned to the hotel. 


80 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


There, sitting apart from the others at one end 
of the long table, were Brown and his companion ! 
They glanced at him, and then continued eating. 
It dawned upon Tom that while he knew Brown, 
Brown did not know him. He took a seat opposite 
them. 

“How d’you do?” said Tom. 

Brown and the other man nodded, but did not 
speak. 

“Just traveling through?” asked Tom. 

“Yes,” said Brown. 

“Where are you from?” Tom’s manner was 
casual and friendly. 

“Kentucky,” answered Brown. 

“Oh, is that so? Coming through to enlist?” 

“Yes.” 

“Whereabouts in Kentucky do you hail from?” 
persisted Tom. 

“Fleming County.” 

“Well, that’s good news! I’m from Fleming 
County myself. Let’s see, I think I remember 
you. Your name is Brown, isn’t it?” Brown’s 
eyes were wide; the other man’s jaw was droop- 
ing. “Surely I remember you,” continued Tom. 
“You’re a locomotive engineer, aren’t you? I 
presume you’ll be running a locomotive here in 
the South. We need engineers.” 


IN MARIETTA 


81 


Brown was speechless; his companion was ris- 
ing from the table. 

“ That’s all right,” said Tom. “Sit down! 
I’m Bnrns. We met at the same place last Mon- 
day night, Brown.” 

“Young man!” said Brown, slowly recovering 
his power of speech. “When I get my revenge 
on you, you’ll feel it!” 

“Whew!” breathed the other. 

When dinner was finished, they left the hotel 
to find a spot where they could talk. Tom told 
them of the change in plans. It was decided that 
they should leave for Marietta on the afternoon 
train, rather than spend the extra day in Chatta- 
nooga. Dorsey, who was traveling with Brown, 
thought that there might be some others who had 
not been told of the change and who would be 
on the train. 

As they threaded their way through the crowd 
at the station, Tom caught the first intimation 
of Mitchel’s drive upon Huntsville. “The train 
is jam-full,” a man was saying. “There isn’t a 
seat left. All those soldiers who went through 
here this morning are being sent back.” 

“Why is that?” asked his companion. 

“They don’t seem to know,” the man continued. 
“They got as far as Stevenson — that’s a little 


82 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


place down the line about thirty miles — and 
then they received orders to go back. They’re to 
join Beauregard at Corinth as fast as they can by 
the way of Atlanta and Meridian. ’ ’ 

“Hm-m-m, that’s strange!” 

“Perhaps there’s a wreck between here and 
Corinth.” 

Tom whispered the news to Brown and Dorsey 
after they were aboard the train. They ex- 
changed glances. 

It was ten o’clock that night when the brake- 
man of the train called, “Marietta!” Dorsey 
was asleep on the coal box of the car, while Tom 
and Brown dozed against the door. They had 
taken turns at the coal box for eight hours. Now 
they moved stiffly out to the platform, relieved 
that the journey had ended. For several minutes 
they waited at the station, slowly circulating 
among the people to see if they could recognize 
any other members of the expedition. 

“I guess we’re the only ones here,” said Tom. 

“Looks that way,” replied Brown. “Let’s go 
to the hotel.” 

“I’d give a good deal to know where Mitchel 
is at just this minute,” said Tom. 

“So would I,” replied Dorsey. “I hope we’re 
not making a mistake by delaying a day.” 


IN MARIETTA 


S3 


“It’s my opinion,” said Brown, ‘ ‘ that when 
Mitchel starts to do a thing, it takes more than 
mnd to stop him.” 

They walked on silently toward the hotel. 

While they drifted off to sleep that night, 
General Mitchel was perfecting the last details of 
the attack npon Huntsville. Every road was 
blocked by scouts to prevent the news of the ad- 
vance going before them. Ten miles to the south 
lay Huntsville, unaware of the approaching army. 

The last rush of the advance commenced at two 
o’clock in the morning. Mitchel ’s weary army 
struggled to its feet, and stood ready to march. 
The cavalry was the first away, and disappeared 
silently into the night. There were no bugle calls, 
and no shouting. Even the noise of the horses’ 
hoofs was deadened by the deep mud of the road. 
The four cannons which the cavalry took with it 
fell into position; then the infantry moved for- 
ward. As each regiment passed, General Mitchel 
addressed his men; then when the last of them 
was on the road, he and his aides pressed towards 
the front. 

' When daylight came, the cavalry was four miles 
from Huntsville. The first isection of cavalry 
galloped to the west of the town, the second to the 
east, while the remaining cavalrymen, led by 


84 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

General Mitchel, dashed for the station. Now all 
restraints upon noise were removed. The shout- 
ing of the cavalrymen drifted back to the infantry- 
men to quicken their steps, and the cannons ham- 
mered along the road. 

A few minutes later, Huntsville was in the 
control of the Union troops. At the station, 
Mitchel found fifteen locomotives, eighty cars, and 
a cipher message from Beauregard to the Con- 
federate Secretary of War. Beauregard was 
desperately in need of troops, said the decoded 
message. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 
THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED 

“I have no positive information, but I think 
that Mitchel captured Huntsville today !” 

Andrews was speaking. An exclamation of 
surprise came from the men who were clustered 
about him in a room of the hotel at Marietta. 
There were nineteen of them; travel-worn, tired 
and still wet from the incessant rain. It was 
their last conference before the raid. 

“The line between Chattanooga and Corinth is 
blocked, ’ ’ continued Andrews, “and no one knows 
the cause of it. No trains and no telegraph mes- 
sages are coming through. Of course it may be 
that Beauregard has heard of Mitchel ’s advance 
and has chosen to operate in silence. All that we 
can do is hope and pray for the best, and carry 
out our orders. If we can destroy the railroad 
between here and Chattanooga, it will put the city 
at MitchePs mercy. Then our work is done. It 
will remain for Mitchel and Beauregard to fight 
it out.” 

He paused, and there was a moment of pro- 

85 


86 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

found silence while the men considered the situa- 
tion. Then Andrews spoke again: 

4 ‘ The fact that action has started between Chat- 
tanooga and Corinth means that our task is ad- 
ditionally hazardous. The odds we must over- 
come are greater than I expected. If we have 
made a mistake in delaying a day, we must work 
the harder to keep that mistake from 'costing 
Mitchel his victory. The train we are to capture 
leaves Marietta at six o ’clock tomorrow morning. 
I will see that you are called before five so that 
you will have plenty of time to get to the station. 
Carry food with you, for there’s no telling when 
you’ll sit at a table again. Buy tickets for points 
north of Big Shanty — Allatoona, Etowah, Calhoun 
and Dalton — so that you won’t excite suspicion. 
Get aboard the same car in groups of two and 
three, and don’t show that you are acquainted. 
Avoid all talk about the raid. We must say every- 
thing that is to be said here tonight before we 
separate. I will be in the same car, and if trouble 
starts, follow me. 

“At Big Shanty we will seize the train. The 
train stops at Big Shanty for the crew and pas- 
sengers to have breakfast. Stay in the car until 
the others have left ; then, when you see me leave, 
follow me to the head of the trains Walk slowly 


THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED 8? 

and carelessly, as though you were simply out 
to stretch your legs. Brown and Knight will go 
with me to the engine, and you, Burns” — he 
pointed to Tom — “you come with us, too. I 
want you as fireman. Ross will uncouple the 
train after the third box-car. The box-cars are 
empties being sent to Chattanooga for supplies 
which the rebs are storing in Atlanta. The doors 
will be unlocked. The rest of you are to climb 
aboard the last box-car. Do all of you under- 
stand?” The men nodded. “Have your guns 
ready to use in case there is any interference, 
but don’t fire unless you must. After the train 
has started . . .” 

He paused; then, with a gesture which told 
them that he would not even try to guess what 
might happen, he added: “We will succeed or 
leave our bones in Dixie! That is all I can tell 
you. Tonight, before you go to sleep, examine 
your guns and make sure that they are not clogged 
or rusty.” 

The meeting was over, and each man, as he 
stepped from the room, realized that he was on 
the verge of a great adventure. They made their 
way silently along the dark corridors of the hotel. 

“I’m about ready to explode,” said Tom- 
“Think of it! I’m going to be fireman!” 


88 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“I’ll make yon heave wood so fast that you’ll 
be sorry for that trick you played in Chatta- 
nooga,” replied Brown. “Did I tell you about 
that, Knight?” 

Knight, Brown, Dorsey, Wilson, and Tom were 
all occupying the same room. The hotel at 
Marietta was crowded, and the men were sleeping 
wherever they could squeeze themselves in. Tom, 
Dorsey, and Brown, having had several nights of 
good rest, had relinquished the bed and sofa to 
the three newcomers, and had spread blankets 
on the floor. 

“Let’s lock the door, and look at our guns,” 
suggested Tom. The lock was broken, and so he 
barred the door with a chair. Then they sat on 
the bed, with the lamp beside them, and talked 
while they unloaded their revolvers, wiped away 
the rust and mud, and reloaded. Each told of 
his experiences and narrow escapes. Knight had 
been arrested as a deserter from the Confederate 
army. Wilson and Shadrack had stolen a ferry- 
boat and crossed the Tennessee River at night, 
Brown and Dorsey had shared their food with 
two Confederate sentries who had stopped them 
as they crossed the railroad bridge at Stevenson. 
“Most sociable sentries I ever found,” said Dor- 
sey. “ They believed our story, and told us all 


THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED 


89 


about Bull Run. It was mighty interesting to 
hear their side of it, because we were both in the 
fight. ’ ’ But it was Tom who had been most roy- 
ally entertained. He told them about Mr. 
Beecham, and how Marjorie Landis had trapped 
him. 

“But what did you do?” demanded Dorsey. 
“How did you get out of it?” 

“She wished me luck when I left,” said Tom. 
“She was a Northern girl.” 

The others whistled. “Whew!” said Brown. 
“That’s about enough luck to last you for a 
year.” 

They talked until midnight; then divided the 
bedding between them and lay down to sleep. It 
seemed to Tom that sleep would never come. The 
plan of the raid went racing through his mind 
again and again; he could see every move as 
Andrews had described it. His thoughts carried 
him back to the other side of the lines. What was 
Bert doing? He supposed that Bert had been 
left behind when Mitchel advanced. His parents 
in Cleveland? What would they think if they 
were told that he was a hundred miles behind the 
Confederate picket lines? What a story to tell 
them when he returned! And Marjorie Landis? 
Would she realize, when the news of the raid 


90 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

swept over the country, that he had taken part 
in it? She was a plucky girl! 

The next thing he knew was that there was a 
terrific pounding in some remote part of the world. 
He sat up in the darkness and tried to recall him- 
self. Then someone said, “All right — wait a 
second.” The chair which had been placed 
against the door was yanked away, and Andrews 
entered, holding a lamp. 

“Wake up, men,” he said. “It’s just five. You 
have an hour.” 

Brown lighted the lamp on the table ; the others 
climbed stiffly to their feet, stretching. 

“You can get breakfast downstairs,” said 
Andrews. “The proprietor always has some 
packages of food prepared for people who are 
traveling. Stuff your pockets.” He vanished 
down the corridor. 

“That’s the hardest floor I’ve ever slept 
on,” said Brown. The others muttered in re- 
sponse. 

To Tom, the scene was strange and unreal. The 
yellow light of the lamp and the faint dawn which 
was stealing in through the windows made the 
men seem ghost-like as they moved about the 
room, dressing. Huge shadows loomed on the 
walls, swaying and disappearing. 


THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED 


91 


4 4 Shall we go together, Brown?” asked Knight. 

4 4 You'd better not,” said Tom. 4 4 Engineers 
are too valuable. If you go together you might 
both be stopped before you could reach the 
engine. ' 9 

44 The boy's right,” replied Brown. <4 You and 
I'll go together, eh, Tom?” 

44 Yep.” 

4 4 Are you ready?” 

4 4 All ready. Come on.” 

Tom and Brown left the room, found the way 
along the corridor to the stairs. 4 4 Now for it!” 
exclaimed Tom, clutching the other's arm. 

“You bet!” 

Breakfast finished, they left the hotel and went 
toward the station. Tom looked anxiously at the 
sky, and saw that the clouds were broken. They 
had a chance, at least, of good weather for the 
raid. At the station they bought tickets for 
Kingston. There were about thirty people mov- 
ing restlessly about in the dark, waiting for the 
train. Tom recognized Andrews and five of their 
men. Then the remainder appeared suddenly. 
Andrews paced upon and down, his head slightly 
bowed. 

The whistle of the train came shrieking through 
the night. Tom's throat tightened and his heart 


9£ 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


thumped. Presently they could hear the engine* 
and see the sparks above the trees. Then the 
train came sweeping down the track towards them, 
the wheels rumbling and the brakes whining. The 
engine, with its name, General, painted upon 
the side of the cab, passed them. 

Tom’s eyes followed the engine. He saw the 
engineer in the light of the flames from the fire- 
box; the fireman was in the act of sliding fresh 
logs upon the flames. 

Several passengers stepped from the train.; 
Andrews boarded the second coach, and the men 
followed him, distributing themselves through the 
car. Ahead of them were four freight cars and 
another coach. Brown and Tom found a seat not 
far from Andrews; Wilson and Knight settled 
themselves across the aisle. Tom glanced back 
and saw the others scattered through the car. His 
eyes met Shadrack’s and, mindful of Andrews’ 
warning, he turned away before he laughed out- 
right. Shadrack’s expression was comical: his 
eyes were wide and he was gazing about him 
apprehensively, yet still with that twinkle of 
amusement. 

“’Board — ’board,” cried the conductor. 

Tom could hear ‘the rapid puffing of the engine 
as the wheels slipped on the wet rails ; then the 


THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED 93> 

puffing became more laborious. There was a 
rattle of loose couplings, and the train jerked 
forward. It was lighter now. To the west, the 
Kennesaw Mountains made a splotch of black 
against the dark blue sky, and the houses and 
woods along the track were visible in the half 
light. 

The train gathered speed, then settled down to 
a steady pace. The smoke from the engine 
drifted back to them. The forward door of the 
car opened and the conductor entered. He stood 
for a moment looking down the length of the car, 
then commenced to take tickets, scrutinizing each 
passenger closely. The conductor was a young 
man — about twenty-six — and the men of Andrews 9 
party found his gaze disturbing. Tom met his 
eyes, and wondered if he knew anything of their 
purpose, suspected anything. 

“I don’t like the looks of that conductor,” he 
whispered to Brown. 

“Probably wondering why so many people got 
aboard at Marietta.” 

Andrews arose, as though to stretch, but Tom 
could see that he was watching the conductor. 
At last they heard the rear door of the car slam. 
The conductor had not stopped to ask questions, 
regardless of what he suspected. 


94 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“ Big Shanty! Big Shanty! Twenty minutes 
for breakfast.” It was like a bngle call to 
Andrews ’ men. Their eyes were turned toward 
him. He sat as though he “were sleeping. The 
other passengers stirred in their seats, making 
ready to race to the restaurant. 

The speed of the train slackened, and the train 
glided into the town. Bordering the tracks on the 
west was an encampment of Confederate soldiers. 
Bows of white tents stretched down the slope to- 
wards a thick woods. On the east were the houses 
of Big Shanty. The train stopped opposite a long 
shed, before which a man stood ringing a bell. 
There was no need to call the passengers to break- 
fast; they tumbled off the train and ran to get 
places at the counter. And at the head of the 
crowd was the conductor. The engineer and fire- 
man brought up the rear, wiping their hands on 
pieces of waste. Except for three passengers who 
were sleeping, Andrews 9 men had the car to them- 
selves. 

It was several minutes before Andrews showed 
any signs of stirring. Then he arose and walked 
to the rear of the car. 

“Not yet,” he said, as he passed Tom. Pres- 
ently they saw him strolling beside the train. 
Then he boarded the front platform, opened the 


THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED 95 

3oor and nodded. They got np and went 
out. 

1 ‘ Ross, you come with me,” said Andrews. 
4 1 Brown, Knight, and Burns follow. The rest go 
up the other side of the engine.” 

Andrews and Ross walked slowly towards the 
engine. 

“Uncouple here, Ross,” ordered Andrews. 
“Then cross over and get aboard with the rest.” 
His tone was calm and untroubled. 

Tom saw Ross pull the coupling pin, and duck 
under the train. He glanced back to the shed 
where the train crew was at breakfast. There 
was no sign of alarm. 

They approached the engine as indifferently as 
though they were walking for exercise. 

“Wait here,” said Andrews when they were 
beside the engine cab. He went forward, 
crossed in front of the train and looked back on 
the other side to see if the men were aboard. 
Then he came sauntering back. 

“Get aboard!” he snapped. “Knight at the 
throttle. ’ ’ 

Knight mounted first; then Brown, with Tom 
and Andrews following. Knight jumped to the 
engineer’s seat, and grabbed the throttle. There 
came the hissing of steam: the engine trembled 


96 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

and puffed. Brown lunged for the sand lever, 
yanked it open. The wheels spun on the track, 
then grabbed it, and the engine sprang forward 
like a beast unchained.. 


CHAPTER NINE 


THE RACE 

The sudden jerk of the engine sent Tom spin- 
ning against the side of the cab. Andrews, who 
was mounting the wood-pile in the tender to see 
what was happening behind them, was thrown flat. 
He scrambled to his feet, his hands bleeding from 
the splinters, and climbed up the pile. Then he 
waved his arms and yelled in exultation. The 
yell sounded faintly through the noise of the 
engine. 

Tom swung from the cab and looked back. The 
crowd was spilling from the shed. Several men 
raced after the train. Others stood watching, 
dumfounded. 

Knight was bending over the throttle, urging 
the train forward as though he were putting his 
own strength into the flying pistons. His lips 
were drawn back from his set teeth, and his left 
hand upon the throttle was white from its grip. 
With his right hand he was pounding upon the 
sill of the cab. 

Brown was studying the steam gauge. He had 

97 


98 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


opened the forced draft and the smoke stack had 
become a fountain of sparks. 

4 ‘ More wood!” he yelled. 

Tom stripped off his coat. The General was 
pounding upon the rails, swaying from side to 
side. It was almost impossible to stand without 
clinging to the side of the cab. Tom lurched cau- 
tiously toward the tender, grabbed a log and 
dragged it back after him. Brown swung the door 
of the fire-box open. Tom gasped as the heat 
struck him. The red flames seemed to leap out 
at him, enveloping him, smothering him. He slid 
the log into the fire. The door crashed shut again. 
“More! More!” yelled Brown. 

Again and again Tom fed logs into the flames. 
Each time, Brown opened and closed the door as 
though an instant’s heat were too precious to be 
lost. Brown’s eyes were constantly upon the 
wavering needle of the steam gauge. 

Andrews, sitting in the fireman’s seat, was lean- 
ing from the window, glancing first ahead and 
then back. Except for that first shout of triumph, 
he had been calm and deliberate. 

“Enough for now,” shouted Brown. “Rest!” 

Tom, panting and weak, climbed up beside 
Andrews and put his head out so that the cool 
wund would strike it. The violent effort of drag- 


THE RACE 


99 


ging those logs from the tender to the fire-box, 
together with the heat that played upon him each 
time, had made his legs seem like jelly beneath 
him. But the cool air revived him, and he 
watched Brown constantly for the signal that 
more wood was needed. Once he looked back and 
saw Shadrack leaning from the door of the box- 
car. They waved excitedly to each other. 

“Stop!” yelled Andrews to Knight. 

Brown repeated the order. Knight, aroused 
from his intense purpose of forcing the last ounce 
of speed out of the General , shut the throttle. 
Brown gave the whistle a blast, and began twist- 
ing at the brake. Gradually the train lost its 
speed. The men in the box-car leaned from the 
door, asking why they were stopping. 

“Come up here,” yelled Andrews. “One of 
you men climb that telegraph pole and knock the 
insulating cap off. Then break the wire.” 

A little fellow named Scott scrambled up the 
pole. Telegraph communications were broken 
ahead of them. 

“There’s no telegraph station at Big Shanty,” 
explained Andrews. “The best they can do is to 
go on horseback to Marietta and telegraph to 
Atlanta for an engine to pursue us. But they can’t 
telegraph ahead of us! At Kingston we’ll meet 


100 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

the regular freight train, which is traveling 
against ns. While we’re standing in the yards 
the door of the box-car must be closed. Do you 
understand! ” 

“Yes!” shouted the men. 

“Hop aboard then!” 

Once again the General started forward. Brown 
was at the throttle. 

“More wood!” yelled Knight. 

With Knight at the door of the fire-box, Tom 
yanked a half-dozen logs from the tender and 
slid them into the flames. 

“Not too fast,” Andrews called to Brown. 
“We’re out of the worst of it now, and we don’t 
want to get to Kingston too soon. Have to wait 
in the yards.” 

Brown nodded and slackened the speed. Now 
they could talk without yelling. Presently An- 
drews ordered another stop and they drew up 
beside Moon Station. He jumped out and came 
back with an iron bar. “Go ahead,” he yelled, 
then, pointing to the bar: “Good for pulling up 
track. ’ ’ 

Tom added more fuel, and then stood at the 
door of the cab to see Allatoona as they went 
through. Brown opened the throttle gradually. 
The outskirts of the town whizzed past them; then 


THE RACE 


101 


the station. The crowd upon the station plat- 
form, expecting that this was the passenger train, 
stared uncomp rehendingly as the train thundered 
in and out of town. 

They rounded a bend which cut Allatoona off: 
from view; then Andrews motioned to Brown to 
stop. Tom grabbed the brake and tightened it. 
The train stopped abruptly. Andrews pointed to 
the telegraph line. 

“Tear it down, Scott. Let’s pull up some rails 
here.” 

They ran to the rear of the train and pried one 
rail from the track. After ten minutes of feverish 
work, Andrews called: 

“Load the rails on the box-car. Come on!” 

They climbed aboard again, and the General 
carried them onward. 

Tom was standing at the door of the cab, rest- 
ing and watching the country, when Andrews came 
up behind him suddenly and exclaimed: “Look 
at that!” He pointed over Tom’s shoulder to a 
locomotive that was standing, steam up, on a spur. 
“That’s serious business,” said Andrews quickly. 
“I wonder where it came from. I didn’t think 
there was another locomotive between Atlanta 
and Kingston.” 

As they passed the locomotive, Tom read its 


102 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

name, Yo?iah, painted upon the side of the 

cab. 

“ Hadn’t we better destroy the track ?” asked 
Tom. 

“No,” Andrews replied, “we’re only thirteen 
miles to Kingston. We better get there and past 
the freight without losing any time.” 

“More wood!” yelled Brown. Knight was at 
the throttle again. 

The supply of wood was running low. A dozen 
sticks remained and those would soon be gone. 

“Water’s low, too,” said Brown. 

“We’ll stop at Cass Station,” replied Andrews. 
“It’s a wood and water station — seven miles this 
side of Kingston.” 

As they drew up at Cass Station Andrews 
jumped from the engine. The old man who had 
charge of the wood and water came out to meet 
him. 

“I’m running a special ammunition train to 
Beauregard and I have to have fuel,” he said. 
“Tom, call the boys from the box-car and get 
them to work.” 

Tom raced back to the car and opened the door. 
“Give a hand on this wood,” he shouted. They 
streamed out after him, and attacked the wood 
pile. Knight and Brown filled the tanks with 


THE RACE 


103 


water. Before the old station agent knew what 
had struck his little place, the General was steam- 
ing off up the road. 

“ We’re a little ahead of time for Kingston/ ’ 
said Andrews anxiously. He peered ahead to- 
ward the town, and announced presently, 4 ‘The 
freight isn’t in. We’ll have to wait. Let me do 
all the talking, boys, when we’re in there. I don’t 
like the looks of this. Run a few hundred yards 
up beyond the station, Knight. I’ll jump off and 
have the switch thrown, and then you can back 
in on the side-track.” 

They coasted slowly into Kingston, and passed 
the station. Andrews jumped off. Tom, hanging 
out from the cab, saw him talking with the switch- 
man. The latter threw the switch and waved. 

“All right,” said Tom. “Let her go back.” 
Knight reversed the engine, and they cleared the 
track for the freight. Andrews swung aboard. 

The station agent came running toward them. 
“What’s this?” he demanded. “What’s this 
train? Who are you?” 

“I’m running this train on government au- 
thority, ’ ’ answered Andrews calmly. “I’m rushing- 
ammunition to Beauregard.” He waved toward 
the box-cars. Then he demanded sternly: “Why 
isn’t that local freight here?” 


104 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

The agent was subdued. 6 ‘ It ought to be along 
any minute, sir/’ he answered. i ‘Is there a pas- 
senger train behind you, sir?” 

“I suppose so,” answered Andrews indif- 
ferently. 4 ‘ This engine was supposed to haul the 
regular train, but we had to take it for this work. 
Powder is more important than passengers these 
days. They were fitting out another passenger 
train at Atlanta when we left.” 

He handled the situation in masterful style. 
Tom, pretending to be busy inside the cab, 
listened and chuckled. Knight and Brown were 
out oiling the engine. 

“When did the freight leave Adairsville ? ” de- 
manded Andrews. 

“I don’t know, sir,” answered the agent, “but 
I’ll find out.” 

“Yes, please do — and hurry up about it.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Before the agent returned, they heard the 
whistle of the freight far up the track. It ap- 
proached slowly, and then crept into the station, 
stopping with the cars blocking the track for 
Andrews’ train. 

Brown, who was at the throttle, gave an ex- 
clamation of impatience. Andrews swung to the 
ground. At that moment the agent rushed out, 


THE RACE 


105 


and yelled to the freight engineer, “Draw far- 
ther up the track.” The freight train started 
again, laboriously. Andrews jumped aboard. 

“Run out of here just as soon as the switch is 
turned,” he ordered. 

The last car of the freight train rounded the 
trees and came into sight. On the rear of it was 
fastened a red flag! It was a warning that there 
was still another train behind ! 

1 ‘ Good Lord ! ’ ’ exclaimed Andrews. He jumped 
to the ground again, and went toward the station. 
The conductor of the freight train met him. 
“What does this mean?” demanded Andrews. 
“I’m ordered to get powder up to Beauregard, 
and I find the track blocked ahead of me.” 

“It’s not my fault,” answered the conductor. 
“I haven’t anything to do with it. But I don’t 
think that you’re going to get any powder to Beau- 
regard on this road.” 

“Why not?” 

“What will you do about Mitchel at Hunts- 
ville?” 

“What do you mean?” asked Andrews. 

“I mean that Mitchel broke through and cap- 
tured Huntsville yesterday,” answered the con- 
ductor. “If you’re working for the government, 
you ought to know it by this time, too.” 


106 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“ Don’t believe everything you hear,” answered 
Andrews. “Mitchel wouldn’t be fool enough to 
risk an attack on Huntsville in this weather.” 

‘ i Then why are they bringing this special train 
down from Chattanooga with all the supplies?” 

“ That’s their business, not mine,” answered 
Andrews. “If Mitchel has captured Huntsville, 
then some of Beauregard’s troops are split, and 
that’s probably the reason why I’m ordered to 
get this powder up as far as I can. When I get 
there I’ll find soldiers to use it.” 

“Maybe,” answered the conductor. 

‘ ‘ How long will it be before the special is here ? ’ 9 

“Probably about thirty minutes.” 

Forty minutes passed before they heard the 
whistle of the second train; then five minutes of 
anxious waiting before it came into the station. 
The first freight, in the meantime', had pulled up 
on another side track, waiting patiently for the 
arrival of the passenger train which Andrews’ 
men had stolen. 

The special train stopped, blocking the path of 
the General , just as the first had done. 

“Oh, Lord,” said Andrews. He sprang from 
the cab. “Move up there! Get out of my way! 
I’m running a special powder train! Pull up 
ahead!” 


THE RACE 


107 


“I’ll pull up if it’ll do you any good,” answered 
the engineer. “ There’s another special train 
right behind me.” 

“How far behind you?” 

“Oh, twenty minutes, maybe. What are you 
running a powder train for? Who are you going 
to give the powder to? The Yanks?” 

“To Beauregard!” 

“You’ve got some trouble ahead. The Yanks 
have captured the line between you and Beaure- 
gard — two hundred miles of it — from Tuscumbia 
to Bridgeport!” 

The conductor and the engineer of the first train 
had joined them. “You’d better turn back and 
go the other way,” said the conductor. “If you 
go up there, the Yanks will get your powder.” 

“I’ll follow my orders,” replied Andrews. 

He walked back to the General , and called Tom. 
“Walk down there beside the box-car and let the 
men know what has happened. Don’t let anybody 
see you talking with them. Tell them that we’re 
likely to have a fight — to be ready to jump out and 
use their guns.” 

Tom sauntered to the box-car and leaned 
against the door. “Hey! you men! This is Tom 
Burns. Andrews says that we’re likely to have a 
fight. Get your guns ready,” 


108 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


4 ‘What’s the trouble?” one of them asked. Tom 
explained as best he could the difficulties they 
had encountered. “There may be some more 
trains behind this one,” he told them. “They’re 
moving out of Chattanooga. The rebs are on the 
run!” 

The whistle of the second special train sounded 
as Tom walked back toward Andrews. He stood 
beside the engine, listening to the argument be- 
tween Andrews and the three railroad men. The 
first special had pulled far down the track, leaving 
ample room for the second to come in and for 
Andrews to get out. 

The station agent came running toward them. 
“I’ve just had Chattanooga on the wire,” he said, 
“and they don’t know anything about this powder 
train. I tried to get Atlanta, but the wire is 
down ! ’ ’ 

“Of course Chattanooga doesn’t know anything 
about my train,” answered Andrews calmly. “If 
they did, they wouldn’t be sending these trains 
down blocking me. My orders came from Beaure- 
gard at Corinth, through Montgomery to At- 
lanta.” 

“Chattanooga orders you to wait here until the 
order is confirmed,” said the agent. 

“I don’t care a rap for Chattanooga’s or- 


THE RACE 


109 


ders,” Andrews responded. “I have my own 
orders.” 

“I won’t turn that switch to let you out.” 

“Then I’ll turn the switch myself, and if you 
try to stop me I ’ll have you up for treason ! ’ ’ An- 
drews said it so calmly, so quietly, that the agent’s 
jaw drooped. 

The second special came creaking into the sta- 
tion. Andrews ran forward and shouted: “Run 
down until you clear the switch. ’ ’ The engineer 
nodded. “Tom, get down there and throw that 
switch ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir.” 

Tom ran to the switch and waited. The station 
agent, with the other trainmen, had withdrawn to 
one side ; they were holding an excited discussion 
as to what he should do. 

The last car of the train rounded the bend. It 
carried no red flag ! The road was clear ahead of 
them! 

Tom threw the switch as the wheels of the last 
car passed. He waved to Andrews and the Gen- 
eral rolled toward him. Then, just as he was 
aboard and their train was twisting into the main 
track, they heard a piercing whistle from the 
south. 

“They’re after us!” exclaimed Andrews. 


110 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“Probably a train from Atlanta pursuing us ! As 
fast as you can make lier go, Knight.” 

The General went lunging down the track, gath- 
ering speed. 


CHAPTER TEN 


“ THEY’RE AFTER US ! ” 

At Big Shanty, the chatter of the train crew 
and passengers at breakfast died as though the 
world had been struck dumb. The hissing of es- 
caping steam was followed by the whir of wheels 
slipping on the track. William Fuller, the con- 
ductor of the train, was the first to his feet. He 
ran to the door, with Anthony Murphy, a railroad 
man who had been a passenger on the train, fol- 
lowing him. They were in time to see the Gen - 
eral, with three freight cars, swing around the 
bend and disappear. On the tender, a man arose, 
waved his arms and yelled. The yell came drift- 
ing back to them above the noise of the stolen 
engine. 

“ Deserters!” exclaimed Fuller. He raced up 
the track, with the engineer and the fireman of the 
train following him. They were so hopelessly out- 
distanced that the crowd laughed. 

Murphy found the station agent. “Get a horse 
and ride back to Marietta/ ’ he ordered. “Tele- 
graph Atlanta — train stolen — start a train in 
in 


m TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

pursuit. ” He, too, joined in the chase up the 
tracks. 

It was Fuller’s idea that his train had been 
taken by conscripts who were deserting from the 
Confederate encampment on the other side of the 
tracks. He believed that they would run the en- 
gine until they had put several miles between them 
and Big Shanty, and then take refuge in the 
woods. He had been warned in Atlanta, just be- 
fore he left on this run, to keep a sharp watch for 
deserting conscripts; it was for that reason he 
had scrutinized the passengers in his train so 
closely. 

With Fuller in the lead, they rounded curve 
after curve of the track, hoping each time to find 
the abandoned engine. 

“I can’t go any farther,” panted the engineer. 

“Come on!” yelled Fuller. 

The men yanked oft their coats, tossed them 
aside, and settled down into a trot. Murphy was 
still bringing up the rear. 

Presently they came to Moon Station. Not far 
away there was a miniature flat-car of the type 
which is loaded with tools and supplies and 
pushed along the track. Ahead of them the road 
swept down in a gentle grade. 

“Throw that on the track,” ordered Fuller. 


“THEY’RE AFTER US!” 


113 


The four men, puffing from their long run, took 
the corners of the little car and dragged it to the 
tracks. Fuller started them with a shove, then 
scrambled aboard. 

“I sent the agent riding back to Marietta,” 
panted Murphy. 

“At Etowah,” replied Fuller, “they have an 
engine — the Yonah. It belongs to the iron works. 
If it isn ’t up at the mills we ’ll take it. ’ ’ 

“Has it steam up!” asked Murphy. 

“I don’t know. If it hasn’t, we’re done.” 

The hand-car was coasting easily down the 
grade ; it rounded a sharp bend. 

“Jump!” yelled the engineer. 

His warning came too late. The car reached 
the spot where Andrews’ men had torn up the 
rail; its wheels left the track and it spun about, 
scattering the men over the ground. 

“Anybody hurt!” demanded Fuller, scram- 
bling to his feet. 

“No,” they answered. All of them were bruised 
and the fireman’s cheek was cut. “It’s nothing,” 
he said. They righted the car and dragged it to 
the track. 

“Look at that!” called Fuller, pointing to the 
broken telegraph wires. “This isn’t a conscript’s 


114 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“What do you think ?” asked Murphy. “The 
Yanks ?” 

“Probably. Get that car back on the tracks, 
fc anyway. Grab some of those fence rails. WeVe 
’about reached the bottom of the grade, and we 
can pole the car faster than we can walk. I can’t 
run another inch.” 

They found two light rails, boarded the car and 
coasted to the bottom of the grade. Then began 
the tedious work of poling. It was, as Fuller had 
'said, faster than walking. On level track they 
could go five or six miles an hour; on the up- 
grades, two of them walked while the other two 
poled. 

At the top of the last grade before they came 
to Etowah, they looked down and saw the Yonah 
a mile away, upon the turn-table. The locomotive 
was being turned for its trip up the branch to the 
iron works ! 

“Give a push!” yelled Fuller. “In another 
minute we’re lost.” 

The four men ran beside the hand car and 
started down the grade, jumping aboard when 
they could run no faster. The car slipped to 
and fro on the tracks, yanked them about the 
curves. 

“Keep a sharp lookout ahead on the tracks,” 


“ THEY’RE AFTER US ! ” 


115 


ordered Fuller. But the way was clear. If An- 
drews had stopped at this point to obstruct the 
track, the pursuit which followed would have been 
impossible. The Yonah would have been on its 
way up the branch before the hand car arrived. 

As it was, the engineer of the Yonah was climb- 
ing aboard when his attention was attracted by 
the yells of the men on the approaching car, flying 
down the track asfastasa hand car ever traveled. 
He waited, wondering what was wrong. 

Fuller ran to the Yonah , while his men pushed 
the hand car from the track. 4 ‘ We’ll have to take 
this engine,” he said. i ‘ The Yanks have stolen 
my train!” The three men joined him, and be- 
fore the engineer could protest, they were pushing 
at the bar of the turn-table, swinging the locomo- 
tive around. 

“I haven’t much fuel,” said the engineer. 

“You have enough to get us to Kingston,” an- 
swered Fuller. “Get aboard there!” 

The Yonah slipped from the turn-table, swung 
into the main track and started in pursuit. The 
throttle was open wide. 

Fuller and Murphy exchanged glances ; the 
same thought had crossed their minds. If the 
Yanks had torn up the track ahead of them, the 
Yonah would be wrecked, and, traveling at such 


,116 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

speed, a wreck meant death for them all. The 
Yonah would hurl itself from the track, and end 
in a steaming, smoldering ruin. Yet the two men 
kept their thoughts to themselves and said noth- 
ing. Caution at that moment might mean that 
they would lose the race. It was better to lose in 
a wreck than to lose by delaying. The Yonah—^ 
it was a light engine — fairly danced upon the rails. 

Passengers along the way who had been dis- 
appointed once by a train which did not stop for 
them, gazed in amazement as the engine flashed 
past. 

Fuller, sitting behind the engineer, leaned out 
of the window and peered ahead, watching the 
track anxiously. Murphy, with the two men who 
had come with them, stood by the brakes, ready 
to apply them when Fuller gave the signal. They 
were two miles from Kingston when Fuller 
lurched across the cab and pulled the whistle cord. 
It was that long shrieking blast which Andrews’ 
men had heard as the General swung around the 
bend of the side-track into the main line. 

Andrews, as Kingston dropped behind them, 
stood leaning against the side of the cab, his chin 
in his hand, and his eyes closed. Tom, stripped to 
his waist, was struggling back and forth between 
the tender and the engine with logs of wood which 


“ THEY’RE AFTER US ! ” 117 

he shoved into the fire-box. The General was 
belching great clonds of black smoke; red sparks 
flashed back over the train like a plume waving in 
the breeze. 

“That’s enough,” yelled Knight. “We’ve got 
a full head of steam now. Push her, Brown, push 
her ! ’ ’ 

And still Andrews stood there, with his eyes 
closed, thinking. Tom clambered to the fireman’s 
seat. 

“Stop here!” called Andrews suddenly. 

Tom sprang for the brake. 

“Rip down those wires,” Andrews continued. 
“Two of you men — you and you — load those ties 
in the freight car.” He pointed to a pile which 
lay near the track. “Put some of them on the 
rails.” Then when they were under way again, 
he yelled to Knight, “Stop around that next bend 
— we’ll tear up a rail.” 

The men streamed out again, when the train 
had come to a stop ; they wrenched at the spikes 
with their inadequate tools, but the oak ties held 
them stubbornly. The task was little more than 
half completed when Andrews came running. 

“Pry it up — don’t bother about the rest of the 
spikes. Give a hand, here.” They slid a bar 
under the rail and pulled upward, straining. 


118 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Slowly it bent ; then broke. The men tumbled over 
each other down the embankment, a mixture of 
bodies, legs, arms and tools, with the rail clatter- 
ing after them. Miraculously, no one was hurt. 
Tom was at the bottom of the heap ; he struggled 
loose and climbed up to the track. 

Andrews snatched his hat off and ran, waving 
it, back to the engine. “ ’Board !” he shouted. 
The General rushed forward, under full power. 

Andrews sat beside Tom in the fireman’s seat. 
“The people who are chasing us will be held up 
by the freight trains at Kingston,” he said. “It 
will probably be ten minutes before they can get 
clear of the station. It was a gamble, stopping to 
tear up that rail. I was afraid they’d come up on 
us. That will block them, though.” He looked 
back along the track. “We’ll be in Adair sville 
soon. We have to meet the through freight 
there.” 

“Wood!” yelled Knight. Tom slid down from 
his seat and struggled with the logs. Andrews 
moved over to Brown and yelled in his ear. 
Brown, without taking his eyes off the track ahead 
of him, nodded. He had the throttle open wide, 
and the General was swaying perilously on the 
curves. Long moments passed while the engine 


“THEY’RE AFTER US!” 


119 


seemed to travel on the outer wheels ; then, as the 
track straightened, to come crashing down. 

Tom was becoming accustomed to the swaying, 
jerking floor of the cab. He hurried back and 
forth between the tender and the fire-box, crouch- 
ing to keep his balance, struggling with the heavy 
logs. He was covered with soot, and the sweat 
made tiny rivulets in the black as it streamed 
down his body. His shirt had been caught by a 
puff of wind and carried out of the cab. He lifted 
the lid of the fireman’s seat and threw his coat 
and cape into the box. 

Andrews sat beside him again, glancing nerv- 
ously at his watch. “If we are more than an 
hour late at Adairsville, the through freight may 
pull out and block the road. Then there’s the 
southbound passenger train. ’ ’ 

“At Adairsville?” asked Tom. 

“No, at Calhoun,” answered Andrews. “There 
is the same danger with that as with the freight. 
If we don’t come within an hour of the time we’re 
due, it has a right to go ahead and meet us at the 
next station.” They were rounding a curve 
which gave them a clear view of the track behind 
for several miles. The pursuing engine was not 
in sights 


120 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


The speed of the General slackened. Tom 
glanced ahead and saw Adairsville. 

“Are we going to stop?” he asked. 

“Yes. I want to get that freight started south. 
They might wait, when they see that this is not 
the passenger train. Work np a full head of 
steam while we’re here, Knight.” 

Tom put more fuel upon the fire. The train 
slid into the station at Adairsville and stopped. 
,The freight train was standing on the side-track, 
ready to pull out. Andrews jumped to the plat- 
form: 

“I’m running this special train to Chatta- 
nooga,” he announced. “Some of Beauregard’s 
troops have been cut off by Mitchel. Is the pas- 
senger train waiting for me at Calhoun?” 

“I don’t know,” answered the amazed station 
agent. The conductor and the engineer of the 
freight train came running up. 

“What’s this — what’s this?” asked the con- 
ductor. 

“Special powder train,” answered the station 
agent. 

“Your way is clear to Kingston,” said An- 
drews. “The passenger train is waiting there. I 
have to be going. ’ ’ 

“But the southbound passenger train!” pro- 


“ THEY’RE AFTER US ! ” 13H 

tested the conductor. “It has left Calhoun by 
this time. You’d better wait here.” 

“If I meet any train, I’ll blow it off the face of 
the earth!” answered Andrews. “I have twenty 
tons of powder in those cars.” He waved toward 
the empty box-cars — empty except for the sixteen 
men in the last. He swung aboard the General 4 

“Go ahead,” he ordered. 

Knight was at the throttle. After the one curve 
which took them out of sight of Adairsville, the 
tracks stretched straight ahead of them, and there 
was a slight down grade. Knight opened the 
throttle wide. The General plunged forward in 
huge leaps, swaying through space. There were 
moments when all the wheels seemed clear of the 
tracks, when the locomotive seemed to fly ; at other 
times it settled on the tracks and shook as though 
it were about to drop in pieces. Behind them, the 
freight cars lashed back and forth, throwing the 
men on the floor when they tried to rise. 

“Wood!” yelled Brown. 

Tom took up his struggle with the logs. Now 
he picked them up and heaved them into the cab, 
then followed, holding to the tender, and stuffed 
them into the flames. He stopped once for breath, 
and looked at Knight. The engineer’s face was 
screwed into a grimace ; his jaw was set, his eyes 


122 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

half closed, and his head thrust forward into the 
wind which swept past them. Occasionally he 
closed the throttle a few notches, as though he 
Were tempering the speed just enough to keep the 
General from leaping into the air. He seemed to 
be controlling a live monster, bent on carrying 
them to destruction. 

Outside, the country flitted past them, a blur of 
trees and hills. 

Andrews lurched across the cab and shouted to 
Knight: “ Calhoun — around bend!” Knight 
nodded and slackened off on the throttle. The 
General drifted into a normal speed which, by 
comparison, was mere crawling; it hit the curve, 
swayed and settled down upon the tracks. 

4 ‘Brake!” screamed Knight. 

Brown and Tom lunged for the wheel and 
twisted. When it was set, Tom leaned from the 
cab and saw that they were bearing down upon 
the passenger train, its whistle screeching a 
warning. The two engines stopped within twenty 
yards of collision. 

Ajidrews ducked out on the running board of 
the General . “Get back!” he yelled, w T aving 
frantically. 

The engineer of the passenger train did not 
wait to ask questions ; he reversed his locomotive 


“ THEY’RE AFTER US ! ” 


123 


and slid back into Calhoun, taking the main track. 
That left the side-track for Andrews. The en- 
gineer of the passenger train, in his anxiety to be 
far away from the train which had almost wrecked 
him, had backed so far that his rear car was block- 
ing the other end of the side-track. 

4 ‘ Draw up and let me out,” called Andrews. 

But the engineer descended from his cab. 
“What do you mean by running me down that 
way?” he demanded explosively. “You’re over 
an hour late. I have the right of way.” Then as 
he came closer : 6 6 Who are you ? ’ ’ 

“I have the right of way here,” answered An- 
drews. “This is a special powder train.” 

i 6 Special or no special, ’ ’ answered the engineer, 
“no man can run a train like that on this road. 
Show me your orders.” 

“Get your train out of my way,” answered 
Andrews. He was calm again now, and his tone 
showed nothing of the agony of suspense raging 
within him. 

“I refuse to clear the track until you show me 
your orders for running like that.” 

Andrews glanced at Tom. And there was 
meaning in that glance. Tom swung from the en- 
gine and strolled back along the train, ready to 
call the men. 


1M' 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“Get your train out of my way,” answered 
Andrews evenly. He pulled out his watch. “I’ll 
give you thirty seconds to start your train for- 
ward. At the end of that time I’ll have my men 
do it for you, and I’ll take you to Chattanooga 
with me — charged with aiding the enemy ! ’ ’ 

The engineer began to splutter ; then he paused, 
turned suddenly and strode oft toward his engine. 
The passenger train pulled slowly ahead. Tom 
ran to the switch, threw the handle, and swung 
aboard the General as it passed him. 

“Whew!” said Andrews. “I thought we were 
going to have trouble there.” 

“Do you think the passenger train will pull 
out?” asked Tom. “That would block ’em.” 

“No,” answered Andrews. “He’ll stay there. 
I wanted to tell him that the way was clear to 
Adairsville . . . but I couldn’t. It might mean 
a wreck, if they are still pursuing us. That would 
be terrible — it’s a passenger train.” 

Tom nodded. Brown yelled for more wood. 
WTien the fire had been stoked, Tom took his seat 
beside Andrews. 

“We’ve left them behind now, I think,” con- 
tinued the leader. “That tangle of freight at 
Kingston will stop them.” 

A deep rumble, rising above the noise of the 


“ THEY’RE AFTER US ! ” 125 

General struck their ears. For a moment they did 
not know what it was; then Tom exclaimed, 

‘ ‘ Thunder ! Look ! ” He pointed to the black sky. 
Already the rain was splashing down upon them, 
streaking the forward windows of the cab. 

‘ 4 We ’re near the Reseca bridge now,” said An- 
drews. Then he added : ‘ 4 If only the rain doesn’t 
come down hard enough to put out our fires ! It 
may take us longer . . . Hey, Knight! Stop 
here! We’ll tear up the rails!” 

The General glided around a sharp curve in the 
road and came to a stop. The men jumped out 
from the box-car. 

“Pull up some rails here, men,” ordered An- 
drews. “Break the wires, Scott.” Scott was al- 
ready halfway up a telegraph pole. 

“We dumped some ties out on the road back 
there,” said Ross. “They’re lying across the 
rails.” 

“Good!” answered Andrews. “I think we’ve 
left them behind, but we can’t take any chances. 
We may have to spend more time at the bridges 
starting the fires.” 

He ran back to where the men were working 
at the rail, grabbed the iron bar and rained blows 
down upon the spikes. When half of the spikes 
had been drawn, he yelled, “Pry this up !” They 


DL20 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

put the iron bar beneath the rail, and pulled. 
Slowly the remaining spikes gave way, and the in- 
side rail of the curve rattled down the embank- 
ment. 

“Now for the other side,” ordered Andrews. 
The men were beginning to attack the spikes 
when a prolonged blast of a locomotive whistle 
sounded to the south. There was an instant of 
quiet; then Andrews yelled: 

“Come on ! They’re after us, but that rail will 
be enough to wreck them!” 

They ran for the train. 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


THE PURSUIT 

The screeching whistle of thA Yonah, which had 
sent the General speeding away from Kingston, 
was a warning to the engineer of the freight train 
blocking the way of the pnrsners. It had pulled 
out of the station and was lumbering southward, 
intending to make the side-track at Cass Station 
and wait for Fuller’s passenger train. 

Brakes were twisted, and the two locomotives 
approached each other -slowly. 

“Our fuel’s about gone,” said Murphy. 

Fuller was swinging from the Yonah’ s cab, 
ready to jump off. “Then we’ll get aboard the 
freight,” he replied. The others followed him. 

“Back into the station,” ordered Fuller, as he 
climbed into the cab of the freight locomotive. 
“The Yanks have stolen my train!” 

“They’ve just pulled out!” answered the en- 
gineer. He threw the engine into reverse, while 
the fireman swung on the whistle cord. 

Fuller sprang into the tender, climbed the wood 
pile and up on the box-car. The second freight 
127 


128 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


was just pulling out, blocking tlie track. He 
waved and yelled to Murphy, who yanked at the 
whistle. The second freight stopped and waited. 
At that moment a combined passenger and freight 
train from the branch line to Rome swung around 
the bend and pulled into the station. The conges- 
tion was complete. With the fuel-less Yonah at 
one end, and the Rome train at the other, the three 
freights were hopelessly locked and tangled. 

Fuller ran back to the engine. “Come on,” he 
said. “We’ll take the Rome engine.” 

“This engine is faster,” answered Murphy. 
“We can shunt the cars on the side-track and run 
her backwards.” 

“It’ll take a half-hour to get her clear,” said 
Fuller. “Come on!” 

He jumped from the train, and ran up the track. 
Murphy, still protesting, ran after him. It was 
their second foot race that day, and they arrived 
at the station winded. 

“Cut that engine loose!” yelled Fuller. The 
station agent recognized him, and asked what had 
happened. “The Yanks!” answered Fuller. It 
was explanation enough. The Rome engine, sup- 
plied with fuel for its return trip, was uncoupled. 

“Telegraph Chattanooga train stolen by Yanks. 
Am in pursuit.” 


THE PURSUIT 


129 


The station agent ran to his office, but it was too 
late to get the message through; Andrews’ men 
had already torn the line down. 

The engine which Fuller now had was smaller 
and slower than the Yoimh. The engineer, upon 
entering Kingston, had allowed the steam pres- 
sure to sink, and they crawled slowly from the 
station. Five minutes later they cable to the 
break in the telegraph lines, and Fuller knew that 
his message to Chattanooga had not gone through. 
They worked feverishly at the engine, but the 
steam pressure rose slowly. It was that fact 
which saved them from a wreck when they came 
to the spot where Andrews’ men had torn up the 
rail. There was ample time to reverse the engine 
and bring it to a stop. 

Without spikes and tools it was hopeless to 
think of bridging the gap. They stood gazing rue- 
fully at the break. 

“WVre done!” muttered Murphy. 

“No, we’re not,” answered Fuller. “Come 
on ! ” And he started running up the track. The 
others, nearly exhausted by the pace he had led 
them, followed on their third foot race after the 
stolen train. 

This broken rail, which so nearly blocked the 
course of his pursuers, was Andrews’ greatest 


130 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

mistake. If lie had left the way clear for Fuller, 
sending the southbound freight against him from 
Adairsville, a collision would have been inevi- 
table. As it was, Fuller and his men, running 
towards Adairsville, heard the approaching train 
in plenty of time to stop it. Once again, scarcely 
fifteen minutes after deserting one locomotive, 
they were aboard another, the Texas . 

It took but a minute to explain to the engineer 
what had happened. The engine, thrown into re- 
verse, pushed back to Adairsville, with Fuller, 
mounted on the end box-car, controlling the train 
by signals. South of the station they stopped, 
while Fuller jumped from the train and pulled 
open the switch to the side-track. Murphy un- 
coupled the train at the engine. Again they 
started back, this time shunting the train to the 
siding and allowing it to run on its own momen- 
tum. When the wheels of the last car passed, with 
a gap of a few yards between the car and the 
engine, Fuller threw the switch and leaped for the 
cab. Murphy caught his arms and pulled him 
aboard. The Texas plunged backward down the 
track, racing the cast-off train as it rolled upon 
the siding. For a moment it seemed that they 
would collide at the north switch where the side- 
track re-entered the main line. Fuller, leaning 


THE PURSUIT 


131 


from the cab, glanced apprehensively at the en- 
gineer. He had the throttle opened wide and the 
Texas was gaining speed at every turn of her 
wheels. The station agent was on the platform, 
waving his arms and yelling. Ahead of them, the 
leading freight car lurched as it struck the bend 
of the side-track ; then the Texas rattled over the 
Switch and out of danger — with two yards to 
spare. 

Behind them, the freight car struck the closed 
switch, jumped it, ran off the track and turned 
over. The force of the cars shoved it over the 
ground : the second car crashed on its side. 

Fuller glanced back indifferently at the wreck 
they had left behind them. “Keep her open 
wide!” he yelled, and the engineer nodded. 

Ahead lay the clear straight road down which 
the General had swept just a few minutes before.; 
There were no obstructions, and no breaks as far 
as Fuller and Murphy could see. They had 
climbed to the edge of the tender and were sitting, 
clutching the sides, studying the tracks ahead of 
them. 

“Stop at Calhoun !” called Fuller, and the order 
was passed back to the engineer. As the station 
swung into view, the Texas came to a halt, with 
*her brakes screaming. 


132 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

Fuller jumped off. ‘ ‘ That train — stolen !” lie 
said to the station agent. 

“Out of here five minutes ago.” 

“Get aboard!” 

Fuller dragged the protesting station agent to 
the engine. When the Texas had started again, 
he explained : ‘ * The lines are down. I want you 
to jump off at Dalton, if we haven ’t caught them 
before then, and send through this message. If 
we press them fast enough they won’t have time 
to cut the lines.” 

Fuller took a pencil and paper and wrote the 
message : 

“To Gen. Leadbetter, 

“Commander at Chattanooga: 

“My train captured this a.m. at Big Shanty, 
evidently by Federal soldiers in disguise. They 
are making for Chattanooga, possibly with the 
idea of burning the railroad bridges in their rear. 
If I do not capture them in the meantime, see that 
they do not pass Chattanooga. 

“William A. Fuller.” 

He handed the message to the station agent. 

Murphy, on the tender, suddenly raised his 
arms and yelled. The engineer of the Texas 


THE PURSUIT 


133 


closed the throttle, and reversed the engine. Ful- 
ler jumped to the brake; and the fireman, think- 
ing that he had a train crew to man the brakes, 
swung on the whistle cord to give warning. It 
was this blast which fell on the ears of Andrews’ 
men as they were tearing up the rail, a mile and a 
half farther north. 

The Texas , trembling under the power of the 
reversed pressure against her piston, seemed to 
buck upon the tracks. She stopped as though she 
had come to the end of an anchor chain. 

‘ ‘ Ties on the track,” shouted Murphy, jumping 
from the tender. The others followed him and 
they tossed the ties to the side. Then they scram- 
bled back aboard the locomotive. 

‘ ‘ You men stand by the brake,” ordered Fuller. 
“Murphy and I will be on the tender. When we 
raise our arms — stop!” 

Two minutes later, Fuller and Murphy, strain- 
ing to see obstructions on the track, caught a 
glimpse of the gap where a rail had been torn 
loose. It was only a glimpse, for the engine was 
almost upon it, swinging around the curve. They 
yelled and raised their arms, but it was too late. 

Even before the engineer could close the throt- 
tle the Texas was on the verge of the break. Ful- 
ler and Murphy sat paralyzed, their arms out- 


13 4 


L TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

stretched, expecting the locomotive to plunge 
from the rails* Then, an instant later, they knew 
that the Texas had miraculously sailed over the 
gap! 

Fuller was the first to regain his senses. He 
waved to the engineer to go ahead, and the Texas 
swept down the road. Murphy and Fuller looked 
at one another in dumb amazement. 

4 ‘ The inside rail of the curve, ’ ’ Murphy said at 
last. Fuller nodded in comprehension. 

The Texas , lunging around the curve, had been 
thrown against the outside rail ; the inside wheels 
were lifted clear of the break. Had Andrews r 
men attacked the outside rail first, the race would 
have ended there, with the Texas a battered 
wreck, strewn over the trackside. On the other 
hand, if Fuller and Murphy had seen the break 
sooner, a wreck would have been inevitable, for 
the locomotive, in checking its speed, would have 
rested evenly upon both rails. Luck was with the 
pursuers. 

Now the rain was falling in torrents. It stung 
the faces of the two Confederates as they sat on 
the tender, peering ahead, but they were oblivious 
to it. Oblivious, that is, except that they knew 
the rain would help them. The bridges would be 
the harder to burn. 


THE PURSUIT 


135 


Time after time, they raised their arms and the 
Texas came to a stop, while they jumped to the 
ground and threw ties from the track. The Gen- 
eral was gaining a greater lead each time the 
Texas was checked. And seconds were counting. 

Fuller grabbed Murphy’s arm, and said: 
"“Look!” 

Far ahead they saw a black cloud of smoke. It 
was the General approaching the Reseca. bridge. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


SPEEDING NORTHWARD 

Tom slammed the door of the fire-box and 
climbed up on the seat beside Andrews, who was 
leaning half out of the window, absorbed in his 
own thoughts. He glanced back, and turned to 
Tom. 

“They’re still after us,” he said grimly. “I 
want to drop the last box-car. Can you get back 
there and tell the men!” 

“Yes,” answered Tom. “Why not break 
"through the ends of all the cars — so we can get 
back and forth without having to climb over the 
roofs?” 

“All right — but hurry. Uncouple just as soon 
as you can.” 

Tom climbed over the logs in the tender; then, 
balancing carefully, he stood up and clutched the 
top of the swaying freight car. In an instant he 
had swung himself over and was running down 
the roofs of the cars, silhouetted against the 
cloudy sky. When he reached the end of the train 
he lay on his stomach and looked down. The men 

136 



The men were feeding the ties they had collected, out upon the road 
through an opening they had broken in the rear of the car. 




SPEEDING NO/RTHWARD 


1ST 


were feeding the ties they had collected out upon 
the road through an opening they had broken in 
the rear of the car. The hole was large enough so 
that he could climb down the ladder, swing around 
the corner, and enter. 

“ Andrews wants to drop this car,” he told the 
men when he was safe inside. ‘ 4 Break the other 
end open. ’ ’ They took one of the rails they had 
removed from the track north of Big Shanty, and 
with it as a battering-ram knocked a hole in the 
forward end; then in the end of the second car. 
They passed the remaining ties and the rails for- 
ward. 

“ I’ll pull the pin,” said Tom. He lay down on 
the floor and reached for the coupling; then he 
drew back. “No — here, shove a tie off. Wefll 
see if we can wreck her.” 

As he drew the pin out, the others threw a tie 
"down. It struck one wheel of the detached car, 
bounded, struck again and then bounded out of 
the way. The men silently watched the car rolling 
along behind them. 

Tom shook his head in disgust. “Let’s knock 
the ends of these cars out, ’ ’ he said. Once again 
they took the rail up and battered their way 
through. Tom climbed up over the end of the 
tender and reported to Andrews. 


138 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“We tried to wreck it,” he said, “but the tie 
bounced out of the way. ’ ’ 

Andrews nodded and leaned from the cab. 
“We’re within a mile of Reseca bridge,” he said 
slowly. “I don’t dare to stop and build a fire. 
They’re too close upon us.” 

Now, for the first time, Tom realized that the 
raid might fail in its purpose. The excitement of 
the race, of reaching this point where the road to 
Chattanooga lay clear before them, had been upon 
him ; it had never entered his head that their long 
struggle against so many obstacles could end in 
anything but glorious success. Surely they could 
do something to block the way of the pursuing 
engine. 

“Can’t we stop and fight?” he asked. “Put up 
an obstacle at one of these curves, and attack them 
from ambush ? We ’re all armed. ’ ’ 

“No,” answered Andrews; “they’ll be bet- 
ter armed.” He still believed that the engine 
in their rear had come from Atlanta — probably 
with a detachment of soldiers aboard, prepared 
for a battle. “There are bridges ahead — the 
Chickamauga bridges. We’ll drop another 
car on the Reseca bridge. Go back and tell 
them. I’ll slow down. Try to wreck it in the 
shed.” 


SPEEDING NORTHWARD 


1S9) 

Tom hurried back again over the wood pile. 

The Reseca bridge which ran over the Ooste- 
naula River was covered by a long shed. And, as 
it was built upon a curve in the road, a box-car — 
either wrecked or merely left standing — could not 
be seen hntil the pursuing engine was almost upon 
it. 

Ross stood at the side door of the first freight 
car, while Tom clutched the coupling pin, ready to 
draw it. Others waited with ties. The train’s 
speed decreased. 

“Get ready,” yelled Ross; then, as they entered 
the shed, “Go!” 

Tom drew the pin. The car seemed to cling to 
the train for several seconds; then the General 
leaped ahead. Ties streamed out upon the track. 
The wheels of the abandoned car knocked several 
out of the way ; then, as the train swung about the 
curve, leaving the car hidden in the shed, Tom 
saw one tie resting at an angle across the track. 
The wheels struck it, and the car lurched heavily. 
:#■ . . They could see no more. 

“I think we put it off the track,” cried Tom 
exultantly when he was back in the engine. An- 
drews slapped him on the back. 

“We’ll have to break the wires above here,” he 
said as the little station in Reseca flashed past 


140 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

them. 6 ‘ Stop about a mile up here, Knight. On 

a curve.’ ’ 

“Wood!” yelled Brown. 

Tom took up the work of dragging logs from 
the tender and stuffing them in the fire-box. He 
stopped once, and pointed to the wood pile. Fuel 
was running low. 

“At Green’s Station,” said Andrews. 

“Water there, too?” asked Brown. 

“At Tilton — just a few miles farther on.” An- 
drews waved to Knight to shut off the power. 

“If that car at Reseca bridge doesn’t stop them, 
we’re cornered,” panted Andrews as he ran back. 
“Put an obstruction here! That bent rail!” 

The men ran back to the car and pulled out the 
rail. It was the one they had ripped from the ties 
north of Calhoun. They forced the straight end 
of it under the track, leaving the bent end pro- 
jecting toward the pursuers — a scarcely visible 
snag which would rip into the engine. 

“Keep dropping ties, men,” ordered Andrews. 
“We have to stop at the wood yard.” 

Brown took the throttle and pushed the General 
onward toward Green’s Station. Tom put the 
last of the fuel in the fire, and leaned wearily 
against the cab. Drops of rain, carried by the 
wind, splashed upon him and ran down his body, 


SPEEDING NORTHWARD 


14*1 

streaking the soot which covered his chest and 
stomach. His eyes met Knight’s and they looked 
at each other dumbly, asking each other how the 
the race would end. Instinctively they turned 
toward Andrews. He was in the fireman’s seat, 
hands clenched and face set, staring ahead. He 
did not move until they were within sight of 
Green’s Station. 

The General stopped at the wood pile and the 
men jumped out. The keeper of the yard came 
running toward them. Andrews waved him 
aside. 

“ Throw that wood aboard, men,” he said. But 
they had already attacked the pile. 

Then they heard repeated short blasts of a 
whistle to the southward. The men paused and 
looked at Andrews. 

“Pile it in! Hurry!” he yelled. 

“Who are you?” demanded the keeper. 
“What’s this train?” 

Andrews seemed not to hear him. Four Con- 
federate soldiers who were standing several hun- 
dred yards away yelled and pointed in the direc- 
tion of the whistling. 

“ ’Board,” called Andrews. As he climbed 
into the cab of the General, Tom saw that his face 
had become suddenly drawn. There was no talk- 


148 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

in g now. The race had reached the final test of 
strength. While Tom, in the tender, yanked logs 
loose from the pile, Andrews stood ready to pass 
them to Knight, who shoved them into the fire- 
box. 

“The wood’s wet,” said Knight. The others 
heard him and made no reply. He worked with 
the drafts, coaxing the fire. Occasionally, Brown 
glanced at the steam gange; then the two en- 
gineers would exchange glances. Slowly the 
needle of the gauge crept up. 

In the box-car the men silently dropped ties 
upon the tracks. Sometimes there was a mum- 
ble of satisfaction as a tie fell squarely across the 
rails; or a grunt of disgust when one tumbled end 
for end and landed out of position. 

Running a mile or so behind them, they caught 
occasional glimpses of the smoke of the Texas . 
There were moments when the smoke paused and 
mounted straight into the sky; then a few seconds 
later it flattened out and rose in a long black 
stream. The Texas was running from obstruction 
to obstruction, clearing the way and pressing for- 
ward. How had they done it? How had they 
passed the broken rail, the ties along the track, the 
box-cars and the snag? Those questions were 
pounding in the brains of Andrews’ men. 


SPEEDING NORTHWARD 143 

If ever a man combined determination with 
luck it was Fuller. He had started on foot 
from Big Shanty in complete ignorance of what 
was happening to his stolen train.. Undoubt- 
edly, if he had known that a party of Northern 
raiders had taken it, he would have waited until 
a locomotive came from Atlanta. The idea of 
running after a locomotive would have seemed too 
ridiculous. But, expecting to find it abandoned 
around each curve, he raced on and on until they 
came to the hand car; then the Yonah. When the 
Yonah had run out of fuel, the New York was 
there to carry him to the Rome engine. When the 
Rome engine had been stopped* by the break in 
the track, they had come to the Texas. They had 
shunted and outraced the train, jumped the broken 
track, and avoided wrecking on obstructions so 
many times that they had lost count. And still 
they pressed on. The force of Fuller’s determi- 
nation seemed greater than the force of the steam 
which flashed against the pistons of the Texas. 

Fuller and Murphy, still sitting on the edge of 
the tender, saw the abandoned box-car as they 
swerved around the bend. Fuller waved his arms 
up and down slowly to the engineer as a signal to 
come to a gradual stop. They coasted down upon 
the box-car, picked it up and carried it on with 


144 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

them. Fuller and Murphy climbed to the top of 
it; Murphy, staying at the rear end to repeat 
the signals of Fuller, who was perched on the 
front. 

At the sight of ties lying across the track, Ful- 
ler’s arms shot up. An instant later, the Texas 
was laboring to a stop under reversed power, her 
brakes grabbing at the wheels. Then, when the 
decreasing speed of the train gave his legs the 
advantage, Fuller was ahead, heaving ties from 
the road. 

Far to the northward, across the bend which 
hid the Reseca bridge from view, Fuller caught a 
glimpse of the General speeding on its way. He 
saw that the train had been shortened once more, 
that the engine was hauling only one box-car. He 
dreaded that first sight of the Reseca bridge, for, 
if Andrews had left it in flames, the race was over 
for the Texas . Then they swept around the curve 
and the bridge lay before them, indistinct in the 
drizzle of rain. It appeared intact, but Fuller 
knew that long curving shed too well through his 
years of travel over the road not to be suspicious 
of what lurked inside. 

He waved a signal to approach gradually; then, 
as they came to the entrance, his arms shot up. 
The Texas came to a stop. 


SPEEDING NORTHWARD 145 

“Wait here,” he yelled, sliding down the lad- 
der. He ran into the shed. 

The left forward wheel of the box-car had 
mounted upon one of the ties thrown before it. 
The tie was wedged diagonally across the track, 
and the flange had cut a deep groove in it. The 
right wheel was nearly a foot off the track. Ap- 
parently the car had struck the tie just at the 
moment of losing momentum. 

Fuller made a hasty examination, then ran back 
to the Texas. Murphy was coming forward to 
meet him. 

“They’ve dropped the second box-car in there,” 
explained Fuller. “The front wheels are off the 
track. We can drag it back, I think. We’ll have 
to find a coupling pin.” 

The fireman was racing through his chest, look- 
ing for something which would serve to couple the 
cars together. “Will this be all right?” he asked, 
holding up a short crow-bar. 

“Yes,” answered Fuller. “And bring a heavy 
hammer. ’ ’ 

While Murphy signaled the Texas into the 
shed, Fuller and the fireman ran forward with the 
crow-bar and hammer. 

“Careful now,” yelled Fuller, as the two box- 
cars came closer together. “Easy — easy!” The 


146 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


cars met gently. He slid the crow-bar into the 
hole and held it while the fireman hammered the 
top over. 

“Now run back slowly — an inch at a time,” 
ordered Fuller. 

The engineer opened the throttle, and the Texas 
crept away, taking up the slack in the couplings. 
The left wheel followed back along the groove its 
flange had cut in the tie. Fuller watched it breath- 
lessly. There came a clash of metal as the wheel 
slipped down from the tie and struck the track. 
For a second the flange rode on the rail, then 
settled into position, forcing the right wheel 
up. 

Fuller yelled in triumph, kicked the tie off the 
track, and jumped for the ladder. The steam 
hissed as the Texas was thrown into reverse 
again. They swept out of the shed, pushing the 
two cars. 

The bent rail which Andrews had left as a snag 
in the track would have wrecked Fuller if the 
Texas had been traveling forward instead of 
backward. As it was, the cars cleared it. The 
snag caught on the low cow-catcher of the engine 
and gave the train a mighty jerk. They were past 
it before they knew what had happened. In fact, 
Fuller did not know until later, for he had not 


SPEEDING NORTHWARD 147 

seen the snag ahead of them, and he conld see 
nothing as he looked back. 

He motioned Murphy ahead. 4 ‘What was, 
that?” he asked. 

“ Don’t know. Something on the track. Thought 
the engine was going oft for a second. ’ ’ 

“They’ll probably stop at Green’s for wood,” 
said Fuller. ‘ ‘ Keep the whistle going. ’ ’ 

Murphy hurried back over the swaying cars. 
An instant later the whistle was screaming out its 
warning to the keeper of the wood yard at Green’s 
Station. 

Fuller’s arms went up again, and he was on 
the ground removing ties. 

“We’ll have to stop for fuel,” yelled Murphy. 
When the Texas swung around into view of 
Green’s Station the track ahead was still clear. 
The General was speeding northward. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


FIGHTING WITH FIRE 

Tom discovered that the weariness which was 
creeping over him, stealing his strength, was 
hunger. The sight of Knight gnawing at a hunk 
of bread sent him to his coat for the package of 
food he had bought at Big Shanty. Andrews, too, 
became suddenly aware that he must eat. Brown, 
hovering over the throttle, was too intent upon 
pushing the General forward to be conscious of 
his body. He sat there as though hypnotized by 
the gleaming rails which stretched before him. 

Tilton came into view. Andrews crossed over 
to Brown and told him where to stop for water; 
then he stood ready to swing off the engine to con- 
front anyone who might interfere. The station 
was one hundred yards north of the water pipe, 
so the agent could not get a good view of the 
freight car. It was obviously no car to support the 
special powder train story: its end was broken 
open wide, and the sixteen men within were wait- 
ing in readiness to swing off and fight. 

Brown and Knight adjusted the water pipe. 

148 


FIGHTING WITH FIRE 


149 


Andrews hurried forward to meet the keeper. 
Tom was a few yards behind him, prepared to run 
back and call the men out. 

“ Special train,’ ’ said Andrews. “Running 
through to Corinth. ’ ’ 

“Through to Corinth!” demanded the man in- 
credulously. 

“All right!” yelled Knight. 

Andrews and Tom turned and ran back to the 
engine without waiting to answer questions. The 
General with Knight at the throttle now, went 
roaring past the amazed agent. He stood rooted 
to the ground while the men in the freight car 
waved derisively. 

Brown had collapsed in the fireman’s seat, his 
head thrown back against the cab wall and his 
eyes closed. The strain of driving a locomotive 
at full speed over a strange track was beginning 
to tell upon him. 

“There is nothing for us to do until we get past 
Dalton,” said Andrews. “On the other side of 
the tunnel is a bridge. We’ll set fire to it.” He 
glanced at his watch. “We’re ahead of the pas- 
senger train’s schedule, and we may find the 
tracks blocked at the switches in Dalton.” 

“What then!” asked Knight. 

“Well have to fight our way through,” an- 


150 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


swered Andrews. “Tom, tell the men to stand 
ready to jump out and fight at Dalton. You stay 
up on the tender and don’t let any man show a 
head until I give the signal. ’ ’ Then, to Knight : 
“Stop a couple of hundred yards below the station 
while I run ahead and see if the switches are 
clear. If the way is open, we’ll rush it.” 

“Right,” answered the engineer. “More 
wood, Tom.” 

Tom climbed up on the tender and passed the 
orders back to the men ; then he turned to stoking 
the fire. 

“Here we are,” said Andrews. Once again he 
was calm and deliberate. He seemed to be gath- 
ering himself together for the conflict with the 
station authorities at Dalton. 

Tom glanced ahead and saw the town looming 
up before them — the big station, with its high roof 
sweeping out over the tracks, the passenger 
coaches and freight cars standing upon the side- 
tracks, and the maze of switches. It seemed like 
a network, spread out to catch them. He climbed 
up on the wood pile in the tender where he could 
see Andrews and repeat a signal for help to the 
men. 

As the General stopped, Andrews sprang off 
and walked ahead. He paused to talk with sev- 


FIGHTING WITH FIRE 


151 


eral men who were coming down the track, then 
walked on toward the station. Suddenly he turned 
and motioned sharply. 

Knight pulled the throttle open and the Gen- 
eral fairly jumped. Andrews swung aboard. 
“Push her, Knight !” he yelled. 

Tom, perched on the tender, saw a man rush 
from the station and wave. He shouted some- 
thing but it was lost in the noise of the locomo- 
tive. Then they plunged into the darkness of the 
roof, and out again on the other side. 

Ahead of them the track swerved sharply to 
the left. Knight saw it too late to moderate his 
speed. The General hit the curve and reared on 
its right wheels, hanging there for a breathless 
moment. Tom clutched the edge of the tender to 
keep from being thrown off. He saw Knight’s 
hand slip from the throttle as he slammed it shut, 
saw Andrews’ expression of horror. It seemed 
as though whole minutes passed while the General 
balanced on the curve, swaying and trembling. 
Then slowly it tilted back to the left and struck 
the tracks with a clash that made the locomotive 
shudder. It wavered from side to side, gradually 
settling itself upon the rails. 

Knight glanced at Andrews; his hand went to 
the throttle again and drew it open. Tom entered 


152 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

the cab. There was not a word said about their 
narrow escape from a wreck. 

Ten minutes later Andrews called to Knight to 
stop. ‘ ‘ Tell them to tear up the tracks and break 
the telegraph line, Tom,” he ordered. 

Tom climbed over the tender and into the 
freight car. He repeated Andrews’ orders. Shad- 
rack grabbed him and asked : “ What was that we 
struck back there?” 

‘ ‘ Curve in the road, ’ ’ answered Tom. ‘ ‘ Almost 
threw me from the tender.” 

“It bounced me five times between the walls of 
this car,” answered Shadrack. 

The train came to a stop and the men streamed 
out through the back end of the car. Scott fairly 
shot up the telegraph pole. 

Once again the whistle of the pursuers sounded. 

“ ’Board,” shouted Andrews. “Never mind 
about the track.” When Tom joined him in the 
engine, he said : 1 4 Have the men start a fire in the 
freight car. We’ll leave it in the first bridge shed. 
It’s our last chance.” 

“How about the tunnel?” asked Tom. “An 
ambush — anything. Stop and fight them!” 

“No — not now. Hurry! Get that fire started! 
Use the engine fuel!” 

Tom went to the box-car. “Andrews wants you 


FIGHTING WITH FIRE 


f5S 


to start a fire here. We’ll drop the car under the 
bridge shed. When you get the fire going, climb 
aboard the tender.” He left the men gathering 
the splintered boards into a heap, and returned 
to the engine. 

Shadrack’s head appeared above the edge of 
the tender presently. He motioned to Tom. 
4 4 This wood is so wet we can’t light it. We 
haven’t any paper.” 

4 4 Wait,” ordered Tom. He grabbed a log from 
the tender and went to the fire-box, thrusting one 
end into the blaze. 4 4 1 ’ll have to pass the fire back 
to them,” he explained to Andrews. 4 4 The wood 
is too wet.” 

When the end of the log was blazing, he pulled 
it out and raced back to Shadrack. The wind and 
the rain extinguished the flames, but he hurried 
forward again determinedly. This time he 
lighted several of the smallest logs, which burned 
more freely. He made three trips to the freight 
car, each time carrying a blazing torch, and he 
had just stepped into the tender with the last log 
when the blackness of night fell upon them. Tom 
paused for an instant bewildered. They had 
plunged into the tunnel. 

The scene around him was illuminated by the 
flickering tongues of flame which lapped up the 


154 ? 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


end of the log. He stumbled over the wood in the 
tender, and handed the log to Shadrack. Through 
the hole in the box-car he saw the men working 
at the fire. Several were bending over it, fanning, 
while others hurried back and forth in the dull 
glow bringing fuel. One man was breaking the 
walls of the car with the iron bar, throwing the 
boards back as he pounded and wrenched them 
loose. Then, suddenly, the blaze increased and 
the car was filled with smoke. Flames leaped sev- 
eral feet in the air, mounting high and higher 
until they spread out against the roof of the car. 

“More logs, Tom.” 

Tom recognized Shadrack ’s voice. He passed 
log after log back. 

The train emerged from the tunnel. The car 
was leaving a trail of smoke behind it; flames 
were darting from the side doors and flowing back 
against the walls. Several of the men climbed 
into the tender, wiping their eyes and coughing. 
More followed them until the tender seemed over- 
flowing. 

“All out, I guess/ ’ said Ross. “Whew! that’s 
a hot fire.” 

“Where’s Shadrack?” demanded Tom. They 
glanced about from one to another. Shadrack was 
not among them. 


FIGHTING WITH FIRE 


155 


Tom jumped up to the edge of the tender and 
let himself down into the freight car. 

“Shadrack!” he called; then louder, “Shad- 
rack! Shadrack!” 

There was no answer. The dense smoke choked 
and blinded him. “Shadrack!” He ran down 
the car, holding his breath and dodging the flames. 
“Shadrack!” 

“Here !” 

“Where?” 

“Outside.” 

Tom swung out around the end of the car and 
found Shadrack on the ladder, climbing and fight- 
ing the waves of smoke which drifted back upon 
him, enveloping him, from the side door. He was 
dragging himself wearily from one rung to an- 
other. 

“Can you get up?” Tom asked. Shadrack 
gasped and shook his head. “Hold on tight ! Just 
hold there !” 

Tom started back for the center of the car, 
found the side door and put his head out for a 
breath of clean air. Then he drew the door shut 
and made his way to the rear end again. That 
would keep the smoke from Shadrack as he 
climbed to the top of the car. Tom clung there, 
holding to the brake bar and the ladder, looking 


156 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

up. He saw Shadrack ’s legs disappear over the 
edge. Dizziness overcame him for a moment. He 
held on with all his strength, closed his eyes, let- 
ting the cool rain splatter in his face. Then he 
climbed the ladder, Shadrack was sitting on the 
top of the car, swaying w T eakly. 

“Are you all right, Shadrack f” asked Tom. 

“Yes — in a second. Thanks for coming. The 
smoke almost finished me. I was scattering the 
flames around. Is the fire going all right ? ’ ’ 

“Yes. We’d better get back to the tender.” 

“I would have fallen off, if you hadn’t closed 
that door. I’m still dizzy.” 

Tom looked ahead and saw the bridge. “Come 
on, Shadrack,” he said. “We have to get for- 
ward. On your hands and knees.” He, too, was 
so dizzy that he could not trust himself to walk 
upright. Together they crawled forward over the 
hot roof. Beneath them the flames crackled. 

As they came to the end of the car and looked 
down into the tender, they found the men yelling, 
“Shadrack! Burns!” One of the men was ges- 
ticulating wildly to Andrews. 

“Here we are!” yelled Tom. He waved to 
Andrews. 

“We thought you were caught in there,” said 
Wilson, helping them into the tender. “Dorsey 


FIGHTING WITH FIRE 15T 

started after you, but the fire forced him 
back.” 

“We were almost caught,” gasped Tom, still 
choking from the smoke. The forward part of the 
car was a solid mass of flames, which roared and 
crackled above the noise of the engine. “Pass 
some of those logs into the engine!” 

Tom entered the cab and stuffed fuel into the 
fire-box. Andrews, leaning from the fireman’s 
window, was gazing back. He called to Tom and 
pointed. Behind them, perhaps a mile and a half,, 
came the pursuing engine. 

“Tell the men to pull the coupling when we 
stop,” said Andrews. Tom obeyed, and Ross 
crawled over the end of the tender, his coat 
wrapped about his head to protect him from the 
flames, which spurted out in the eddies of wind. 

“How much fuel have you left?” asked An- 
drews. 

“Ten sticks.” 

“This is our last chance, then,” Andrews re- 
plied. “We’ll have to abandon the locomotive if 
they get through. ’ ’ 

Andrews jumped up and crossed to the other 
side of the engine. He stood beside Knight, shout- 
ing into his ear. Knight nodded ; then he closed 
the throttle, and the General's speed slackened.. 


158 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

The bridge shed was looming ahead of them. 

The General darted into the shed and came to a 
stop. Tom stood at the door of the tender, wait- 
ing for the signal that the car had been uncoupled. 
Already the flames were licking the shed walls 
and mounting to the roof; the scene was illumi- 
nated in a wavering, red glow. 

Ross jumped up from behind the tender, and 
yelled, “Go !” 

“Go!” repeated Tom. The steam hissed and 
enveloped them in a cloud. The walls echoed the 
screeching of the wheels as they slid upon the 
tracks. Brown yanked at the sand lever. The 
wheels gained traction and the General jumped 
ahead and sped from the bridge. 

Smoke was pouring from the ends of the shed 
as they looked back. And across the bend, a mile 
behind them, came the Texas! 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


THE END OF THE RACE 

Fullek had stopped at Green’s Station and at 
Tilton for wood and water; at Dalton he paused 
for a moment to shunt the two freight cars which 
Andrews had dropped. The telegraph operator 
who had been dragged into the chase at Calhoun 
ran to the station and pounced upon a telegraph 
key. Chattanooga answered him and he ham- 
mered out half of the message; then the wire 
“went dead.” Andrews had broken the lines. 
But half of the message was enough to warn 
Chattanooga. The Commander of the Confeder- 
ate troops rushed his men out to block the tracks 
against the raiders. 

Fuller, relieved of the two box-cars, ordered the 
Texas ahead, and they swung out from the Dalton 
station. 

“How about the tunnel!” Murphy asked. 

Fuller thought for a moment. “We’ll go 
straight through,” he answered. 

“You don’t think that they’ll drop that last 
box-car there!” asked Murphy. 

159 


160 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“ We ’ll have to take the risk. A minute’s delay 
will be enough for them to destroy the bridge.” 

Murphy nodded and climbed up beside Fuller 
on the edge of the tender. Both of them realized 
that they would be in the very center of the wreck 
if Andrews had abandoned his last freight car in 
the tunnel. Yet they sat there, coolly and indif- 
ferently, awaiting whatever might come of the 
risk they were taking. 

1 1 If I were leading those men,” said Fuller, “I 
would rush for the bridge, and not bother about 
the tunnel. And I think that is what they’ll do.” 
That was all he said as the black entrance grew 
larger before them. 

The engineer glanced at Fuller and Murphy, 
wondering if they would give the signal to slow 
down. Neither of them moved. Then the Texas 
plunged into the smoke-laden darkness. Pres- 
ently there appeared a faint luminous splotch 
ahead of them, growing brighter as the seconds 
passed. They flashed out into the daylight again. 

‘ 4 Whew!” said Murphy. They exchanged 
glances and Fuller laughed nervously. 

The General was just disappearing around the 
bend. 

4 ‘ Look!” exclaimed Fuller. They caught a 
glimpse of the smoking freight car. He climbed 


THE END OF THE RACE 


161 


down from the tender and went to the engineer. 
4 ‘Put every ounce into her! They’re making for 
the bridge — freight car on fire!” 

The Texas , unburdened by cars, had the advan- 
tage in speed now. For seconds she seemed to 
hover above the tracks as the engineer forced her 
around the curve under full throttle. They came 
to the point where they had caught the last 
glimpse of the General ; then the bridge swung 
into view. Black smoke, with wisps of red flames 
breaking through it, poured from the ends of the 
shed. 

4 4 They’ve left the freight car in there,” shouted 
Fuller to the engineer. 44 Just the shed is burning 
now. Slow down and pick the car up, then rush 
on through.” 

4 4 Through that fire?” demanded the engineer. 

4 4 Yes! If we stop we’re lost.” Fuller went to 
Murphy. 4 4 Better come in the cab — we’re going 
through.” Murphy followed him. They stood 
looking out over the tender. 

The engineer reversed the Texas and brought it 
to a crawling pace as they reached the mouth of 
the shed. Smoke and flames enveloped them, 
blinding them, and they felt the wheels of the loco- 
motive crunching over charred board which had 
fallen across the track. Then came the shock as 


162 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


the tender bumped the freight car. Flames show- 
ered down over the locomotive, streaking through 
the blackness. The heat was scorching, sickening. 
The speed of the Texas increased. And then they 
found themselves in the clear air again, pushing 
the smoking remains of the freight car before 
them. 

‘ ‘ Go on ! Go on ! ’ ’ yelled Fuller. ‘ ‘ Never mind 
about the bridge.” He glanced back and saw the 
shed collapse, shooting sparks into the pillar of 
smoke that was rising. “ We’ll get them between 
here and Chattanooga.” 

That smoke, rising into the sky, came like a 
signal of triumph to Andrews’ men. They 
watched it silently; then they yelled. It was rec- 
ompense for all those long hours of tension and 
violent effort. The men danced, shouted, and 
hammered each other upon the back. Andrews’ 
face, drawn by hours of anxiety, relaxed into a 
smile. 

4 1 There ’s one bridge down ! ” he shouted. ‘ ‘ How 
much fuel have we?” 

“This is the last of it,” answered Tom. He 
kicked the two logs which lay on the tender floor, 
ready to be shoved into the fire-box. 

Andrews went to the tender and gathered the 


THE END OF THE RACE 


163 


men about him. “What we’ll do from here on,” 
he said, “depends upon whether the Rebs come 
through that bridge. If they don’t get through, 
we’ll have time enough to gather fuel and burn 
the bridges ahead of us. If they do get through, 
the only thing that we can do is to abandon the 
engine and take to our legs.” 

“Stop and fight ’em,” protested Ross. 

“No,” answered Andrews. “We’re not here 
to fight. It won’t do us or the North any good. 
We’re here to burn bridges and we’ve done it. If 
we can’t reach the next bridge our work is done. 
Scatter — each man for himself!” 

The General came into a long straight track, 
which had the small town of Ringgold at its north- 
ern end. “If we don’t see them by the time we 
reach the next curve it means they’re stopped,” 
said Andrews. 

Tom put the last of the fuel into the fire. Brown 
closed the dampers and glanced at the steam 
gauge. He shook his head savagely. ‘ ‘ If we only 
had some of that fuel we used on the freight car !” 
he exclaimed. 

“More important to burn the bridge,” an- 
swered Tom. “I wish Andrews would stop 
around this bend and fight ’em.” 

The General was thundering down upon the sta- 


164 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


tion at Ringgold. The men stood in the tender 
gazing silently back, watching for the Texas to 
come around the curve. 

“There!” 

Tom looked down the track. The Texas, push- 
ing the smoldering freight car before her, was 
still after them! The Ringgold station flashed 
past, with the bewildered agent looking first at 
one locomotive and then at the other. The Gen- 
eral whipped around the curve. 

“Slow down, Knight!” ordered Andrews. 
“Jump off, men. Scatter and make your way 
back to the lines ! ’ ’ 

Knight shut the throttle and allowed the Gen- 
eral to lose speed. Tom, Andrews, and Brown 
stood aside while the men filed from the tender 
into the cab. The first stood on the step for a 
moment, then jumped. Tom saw him strike the 
trackside and go sprawling. The second jumped 
> . . the third ... the fourth . . . 

“Get ready to reverse the engine, Knight,” said 
Andrews. “We ’ll send it back on them. 9 ’ Knight 
threw the lever over. “They’ll stop in Ringgold 
for a minute to shunt that car.” 

All the men, except the engine crew, were off. 

“You next, Tom,” ordered Andrews. “Then 
Brown and Knight. I’ll stay by the engine and 


THE END OF THE RACE 


165 


send her back. Here, Tom, take your coat.” In 
that last moment, Andrews was as calm as if he 
had reached the end of some commonplace, hum- 
drum journey. 

Tom took his coat and put it on. He paused 
for a second on the step of the General, then 
leaped. His feet struck the ground and he pitched 
forward. He arose, dazed and shaken, and 
stepped into the woods which lined the track. 

The General disappeared up the track; a min- 
ute later the Texas passed him, and he caught a 
glimpse of the two men who had pursued them 
from Big Shanty. They were sitting on the edge 
of the tender, leaning forward eagerly. 

“If we’d only stopped to fight them!” thought 
Tom. But it was too late for that now. The great 
railroad race was over, and ahead of him lay 
miles of enemy country. He wondered where the 
other men were, if he would meet them. He was 
aroused from his thoughts by the noise of a loco- 
motive coming from the north. The Texas came 
rolling back, with the two men on the tender wav- 
ing to the engineer; the General followed, steam- 
ing down the track with its cab deserted. But the 
Southerners had seen it in time to avoid collision. 

The gap between the two locomotives narrowed ; 
then they came together gently. One of the men 


166 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


jumped to the General’s tender, rushed into the 
cab and shut the throttle. The locomotive which 
had carried the raiders on that wild trip from Big 
Shanty was again in the hands of the Confed- 
erates. 

Tom stood behind a tree watching them. Pres- 
ently the Texas started north, pushing the Gen- 
eral before her. The last of its fuel and steam 
had been used in that final charge down the track. 

Tom walked into the woods, away from the rail- 
road, and sank to the ground exhausted. Minutes 
passed while he lay there resting. Every muscle 
in his body was sore, and it was enough just to 
stretch out with his head against the cool moist 
ground. The problem of getting out of the 
enemy ’s country and back to his own lines seemed 
too remote to be considered now. But presently 
he sat up and began to wonder what would happen 
next. He was about twenty miles from Chatta- 
nooga — he knew that from studying the map at 
Marietta. MitchePs lines lay to the west, prob- 
ably fifty miles away. To the north lay the flooded 
Tennessee River, which he would have to cross. 
And as for himself, he was shirtless and grimy 
with soot ; he was almost without food, and dead 
tired. To make matters worse, just as though 
they were not bad enough, the drizzle of rain, 


167 


THE END OF THE RACE 

which had been an implacable enemy since that 
night on the road to Wartrace, gave no signs of 
ending. Evening was approaching. 

Tom got to his feet. First, he decided, he would 
put a greater distance between himself and the 
railroad. He walked through the forest and came 
to a road. It was deserted. Regardless of the 
danger of being seen so near to the spot where 
they had burned the bridge, he followed the road 
to the north. His ears were straining for the 
least sound of people approaching, and he dived 
into the bushes several times when he thought he 
heard someone. Then, since no one came, he took 
to the road again. He had his cape fastened 
around his neck to hide his shirtlessness, and he 
dabbed at his face with his handkerchief, wiping 
away the soot. But the idea of getting clean with- 
out soap and warm water was hopeless. 

He heard the unmistakable creak of wheels 
behind him, and sprang into the bushes. Pres- 
ently a heavy wagon, drawn by two tired-looking, 
emaciated horses, appeared on the road. In the 
wagon were two men and a woman. The man who 
was driving was carrying on a grumbling mono- 
logue. You worked like a dog, he said, to grow 
crops and then the government seized them to 
feed to good-for-nothing soldiers. The only crops 


168 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Re’d grow this year would be just enough for his 
own family. If the government wanted anything 
from him the government would have to pay him 
in advance. 

Not a word about the burnt bridges or the 
stolen train! Tom listened eagerly. These peo- 
ple were coming from the direction of Ringgold, 
and certainly they would be talking about the 
havoc the Yanks had raised — if they knew of it. 
When the wagon had disappeared around the 
bend, Tom came out on the road again. Until the 
news spread over the countryside he was safe 
from interference. 

After an hour ’s walking he came to a scattering 
of houses at a cross-roads. Over one was a sign 
“General Store,’ ’ painted in sprawling, uneven 
letters. It would probably be his last chance be- 
fore the chase began to buy the things he needed. 
He opened the door and entered the dimly lighted 
store. An old man came out from the back room. 

“Good evening,” said Tom. “I want to buy a 
shirt.” 

“Evenin’,” replied the man. “Shirt! Well 
. . . Shirt! Don’t think I ’ve ever seen you be- 
fore. D ’you live around this a-way, young man 1 ’ ’ 

“No, I’m just going through to Chattanooga.” 

“Mary,” called the man, “bring that light.” A 


THE END OE THE RACE 


169 


woman in the back room mumbled in response. 
Tom dreaded the light. In the dusk of the store 
he could hide his appearance, but with the lamp 
they would see how disheveled and dirty he was. 
And, if they had heard any rumors of what had 
happened during the day, they would suspect him 
instantly. He looked around at the door and 
picked his course between the barrels and boxes 
which lay strewn about the floor. 

The woman entered with the light. ‘ 4 Well, I 
declare !” she exclaimed, looking at Tom. He was, 
indeed, a strange looking specimen. His face was 
streaked with black, for his attempts at rubbing 
himself clean with his handkerchief had been un- 
evenly distributed. His black eyelids, as he 
blinked in the light, made him grotesque. 
“What’s happened to youV 1 demanded the 
woman. 

“I’ve been fighting a fire,” answered Tom. He 
was ready to jump for the door. 

“A fire! Where?” 

That was encouraging. “Down south of Ring- 
gold,” Tom replied. “The bridge caught on fire 
from a locomotive.” 

“Y’ don’t say so!” exclaimed the man. “Y’ 
don’t say so!” 

“Jeb!” screeched the woman. 


170 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“Yes 5 m, p came the response from the back 
room. A small boy straggled into the store. 

“Whyfor you don’t tell us there’s a fire down 
Ringgold way?” asked the woman. 

‘ 1 There wa’n’t no fire when I left,” he an- 
swered. 

“When did you leave?” asked Tom. 

‘ ‘ ’Round noon. ’ ’ 

“I guess you just missed it,” replied Tom. He 
was on fairly safe ground now. “The fire didn’t 
start until after one o’clock.” 

“Huh!” grunted the boy. 

“Y’ don’t say so!” exclaimed the man again* 
“■What happened?” 

“Let’s have a shirt,” said Tom. “I’ll tell yon 
about it while you’re finding the shirts.” The 
old man turned toward the littered shelves and 
commenced pawing over the merchandise which 
had accumulated there. The woman and the boy 
drew closer, waiting anxiously for the news. “I 
was waiting for the passenger train at Ring- 
gold,” continued Tom. “But the train didn’t 
come. After a while we saw some smoke to the 
southward and we thought that was the train. But 
it wasn’t. The smoke just stayed in one spot.” 

“Y’ don’t say so!” exclaimed the man, stop- 
ping his search. 


THE END OF THE RACE 


171 


“Yep,” answered Tom, “but find the shirt for 
me. After a few minutes the station agent . . . ” 

“Morrison,” interjected the woman. 

“Yes, I believe his name was Morrison, come 
to think of it,” replied Tom. “Well, Morrison 
got on the hand car. ’ ’ 

“I rode on the hand car once,” said the boy. 

‘ * Shut up ! ” ordered the woman. Her husband 
stopped again in the search to glare at the of- 
fender. 

“Come on, find that shirt for me,” said Tom. 
‘He was talking with one eye on the door, fearing 
the entrance of someone who would spoil his 
story. “The agent got on the hand car and went 
a piece down the track. Pretty soon he came back 
a-flying. ‘ The bridge is on fire ! ’ he yelled. So we 
got on the hand car, and went down to the bridge. 
There the passenger train stood, with all the pas- 
sengers and the train crew fighting the fire. They 
were trying to put it out so the train could get 
across. Can’t you find it?” This last to the old 
man. 

“We don’t sell many shirts,” he answered. 
“Don’t pay. Most of the people makes ’em 
’emselves. Have we got any shirts, Mary?” 

“I ain’t never seen any,” she replied. “I bin 
here twenty years.” 


172 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“Then sell me one of yours,” Tom said. 

“Can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well ...” 

“If you won’t sell me a shirt, I can’t waste my 
time here talking.” Tom started impatiently 
towards the door. 

“Here, young man,” said the woman, “you 
come back here with me. I reckon we can find 
something for you. ” She picked up the lamp and 
led the way into the back room. It was the com- 
bined living-room, bedroom, and dining-room of 
the family. One door led to the yard behind the 
house, the other into a lean-to shanty which served 
as a kitchen. Tom, by way of precaution, took 
it in rapidly. 

“Tell us about the bridge,” urged the boy. 

Tom continued on a rambling story of how he 
had helped to fight the fire, how sparks had fallen 
on him, and how he had to tear his shirt off be- 
cause it was in flames. He gave a lurid descrip- 
tion of the scene. The woman clucked her tongue 
at intervals, the man exclaimed, “Don’t say so!” 
repeatedly, and the boy grunted his appreciation. 
Tom talked on and on, reserving the end of his 
story. At last the woman held a shirt out to him 
— it seemed to Tom to represent everything which 


THE END OF THE RACE 


173 


stood between him and his ultimate triumphal 
return to the Union lines. Without a shirt he 
could no nothing; with it there was some chance 
of having his story believed. He took it from 
her. 

“And finally the bridge went down,” he contin- 
ued. “The flames shot hundreds of feet in the 
air, and the sparks fell down for five minutes 
afterwards. The passenger train went back to 
Dalton, and I decided that I’d go to Chattanooga 
on foot.” 

“Don’t say so!” 

Through the door to the kitchen Tom could see 
a kettle of water steaming on the stove. “I’d 
like to wash some of this soot off,” he said. 

The woman led him to the kitchen and gave him 
a tin basin. When the door was closed behind 
her, he stripped off the cape and coat, and fell to 
scrubbing with the hot water and soap. Then he 
dried himself and pulled on the shirt. It was sev- 
eral sizes too small for him, but it was better than 
nothing at all. He could hear the two old people 
and the boy discussing the fire. Probably, he 
thought, they would talk of little else until they 
heard the real story. He thanked his stars that 
he had struck this one quiet spot in the chaos of 
war to prepare himself for the adventures of the 


174} TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

next few days. It was providential. Now he was 
ready to meet the world. 

“I’d like to buy something to eat,” he said as 
he stepped from the kitchen. 

“We ain’t got much,” answered the woman. 

“I’ll pay you well,” he replied. “I’ll have to 
carry it with me. It’s getting dark and I must 
be getting on to Chattanooga.” 

“Will some ham an’ some bread do?” 

‘ ‘ Splendidly. ’ 9 

She went into the kitchen. 

“How did you say that bridge caught on fire?” 
asked the old man. 

“Sparks from a locomotive, I suppose.” 

“You don’t say so — in all this rain!” 

Five minutes later he left the store and disap- 
peared down the road which led to Chattanooga. 
Then he climbed a fence and made his way across 
the fields to a road which ran north. For a half- 
hour he plodded through the mud. The strain of 
the long day was commencing to tell upon him, 
and each step forward cost a mighty effort. The 
hunks of mud which accumulated on his shoes felt 
like blocks of lead weighing him down. 

“About enough for this day,” he mumbled to 
himself. Ahead of him he saw a barn, standing 
a few yards from the road. Farther along, per- 


THE END OF THE RACE 


175 


haps a hundred yards, was the house with its 
lighted windows. He walked close to the rail 
fence and approached the barn cautiously, listen- 
ing for dogs ; then he crawled under the fence and 
squatted there, waiting. It was still light enough 
for him to be seen from the house, and so he de- 
cided not to make the rush for the barn until later. 
Several minutes passed, then he heard the sound 
of hoots splashing along the muddy road, and the 
mumble of voices. He threw himself on the wet 
sod and lay there, hidden by the weeds and dark- 
ness. The voices came near. 

Tom caught the words “ . . . some damage 
anyhow. ’ 9 

“Yes,” replied the other man, “but if Andrews 
had only ...” 

Tom did not wait any longer. “Shadrack!” 
he called. The two men stopped as though they 
had been struck. “Over here by the fence. It’s 
Tom Burns.” 

“You, Tom! You scared the life out of me.” 

“Who’s with you?” 

“Wilson.” 

“Hello, there. Crawl through. I’m waiting 
for it to get dark enough so that I can make the 
barn.” They shook hands. “I recognized your 
voice, Shadrack. How are you, Wilson?” 


176 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“All right enough. Have you seen any of the 
others!” 

“Not a soul. Wonder what happened to 
them!” 

“Scattered all over two miles by the locomo- 
tive,” answered Shadrack. “Probably some of 
them went on the other side of the tracks, making 
for MitchePs lines. We decided to go straight 
north and get across the Tennessee just as fast as 
we can.” 

“So did I,” answered Tom. “Let’s get over 
to the barn now. It’s dark enough.” 

They hurried across the short open space. A 
farm wagon standing at the end of the barn 
formed a step to the hay mow. By standing on 
the edge of the wagon box, Tom could reach the 
floor. He pulled himself up and struggled inside. 
Then he helped Shadrack and Wilson to come 
after him. 

“Whew!” breathed Shadrack. “Just like 
home.” He chuckled. 

“It does me good to hear that laugh 
again,” said Tom. He gave Shadrack a dig in 
the ribs. “I don’t suppose you’re hungry, are 
you!” 

“Don’t talk to me until I get through eating this 
hay,” 


THE END OF THE RACE 177 

‘ * Leave enough for us to sleep on,” protested 
Wilson. 

u Smell this,” said Tom. He opened the pack- 
age of ham and bread. Shadrack moaned. Tom 
took out his knife and divided the food; then they; 
had supper. 

“We ought to be out of this before daybreak,” 
said Tom, throwing himself back on the hay. “I 
hope one of us wakes up. I feel as though I could 
sleep forever.” 

It was just dawn when Tom awoke. From his 
head to his feet, he was sore and stiff. He sat 
up, rubbing his legs and stretching painfully. 
“Hey, Wilson! Shadrack! Come on. It’s get- 
ting light. ’ ’ He went to the door and looked out* 
“If we drop straight down between the barn and 
the wagon, they can’t see us from the house.” 
He slid over the edge, hung by his fingers and 
dropped to the ground. The others followed, si- 
lently. A minute later they were on the road 
again. 

“Do you know exactly where this road is taking 
us?” asked Wilson presently. 

“No,” answered Tom, “but so long as it 
doesn’t take us into Chattanooga, I’m satisfied. 
We’re going north and the river is about twenty 
miles ahead af us.” 


178 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“And we’re going about one mile an hour,” 
replied Shadrack, slipping in the mud. 

It was nearly noon when they heard the sound 
of horses galloping along the road toward them. 
They jumped into the bushes and waited breath- 
lessly. A few seconds later, four horsemen, each 
of them carrying a rifle over his arm, went riding 
past. 

“They’re after us,” said Wilson. 

Tom nodded. “What do you think we’d better 
do ? I ’m f or staying to the road. ’ ’ 

“If it wasn’t so blamed muddy we could go 
across the fields,” said Shadrack, “but we’d get 
bogged again.” 

“The road’s our one chance,” added Wilson. 
“Let’s get to work.” 

During the remainder of the afternoon they 
worked their way up along the edge of the road, 
hiding in the bushes time after time. Several 
small bodies of armed men passed them, and once 
they caught a scrap of conversation about “Yank 
bridge burners. ” The hunt was on. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
CAPTURED 

‘ 1 Halt there ! ’ 9 

The command came from behind. They 
whipped about and found themselves facing a 
raised rifle. The man was a civilian, tall and 
lanky. He waved the rifle from one to the other. 

“Where ’re you going?” he demanded. 

“Chattanooga,” answered Tom. He said it 
coolly but it required an effort. 

“And yer going with me,” replied the man. 

‘ ‘ That so ? ” asked Wilson. ‘ ‘ 1 can think of bet- 
ter company if you’re going to keep that rifle 
waving around in the air. What’s the matter 
with you?” 

“Put your hands up, an’ keep ’em up,” ordered 
the man. 

“Well, this way we won’t take the wrong road 
again,” said Tom. “I’d rather walk at the end 
of a rifle than drown in this mud. The folks at 
home ’ll laugh when they hear that we were held up 
just as soon as we got in the South.” 

“Hey? What’s that?” demanded the man. 


180 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“If you’re after our money you won’t get 
much,” Tom replied. 

‘ 4 1 ain ’t after yer money, ’ ’ said the man. “I’m 
after you.” 

“What sort of a Yank trick is this?” demanded 
Wilson. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m asking what sort of a Yank trick this is? 
Are you a Southerner or are you a Yank?” 

“I’ll unload this gun into your head if you call 
me a Yank,” answered the man. 

‘ 1 Then what do you want ? ’ ’ 

“I’m arresting you in the name of the law for 
burning bridges. That’s what I want.” 

“Burning what?” 

“Burning bridges!” shouted the man. “An’ 
don’t stand there the rest of the day talking, 
either. ’ ’ 

“You seem to be running the talking match,” 
said Tom. “What do you want us to do? Want 
us to run so’s you can have a good excuse for tak- 
ing a shot at us with that gun?” 

“And you might have the decency,” answered 
Wilson, “to ask us who we are before you go any 
further.” 

“Well, then, who are you?” 

“We’re fiom Kentucky and we’ve sneaked 


CAPTURED 


181 


through the Union lines to enlist. If yon want to 
show ns the way to Chattanooga we’ll be much 
obliged to yon. But if you’re going to the trouble 
of arresting us for burning . . . What was it 
we burned, Tom?” 

“Bridges,” replied Tom, laughing. 

“Yes — for burning bridges, then you’re wast- 
ing your time.” 

“Maybe,” answered the man. “But you’re 
a-going with me all the same.” 

“Then let’s go,” said Tom. “What’s the use 
of standing here in the mud?” 

“I’ll walk you back to Judson, an’ you can tell 
yer story there. I ain’t believing you and I ain’t 
disbelieving you. Turn around the way you was 
a-going, an’ keep yer hands out of yer pockets. 
I’ll let a bullet go smack into the first man that 
makes a move he shouldn’t.” 

Here was a man they couldn’t talk down. He 
was probably a good shot, and ready to keep his 
threat. If only they could get him at a disadvan- 
tage, and pull their revolvers before he could fire. 
But such hopes were shattered a few minutes later 
when two horsemen pulled up before them. They 
yelled when they saw the three prisoners. 

“Good work, Alf!” said one of the men. 
“Three of ’em. Hello there, Yanks.” 


182 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


“You’re a Yank yourself,” answered Tom 
hotly. 

“What’s that!” 

“We’re no more Yanks than you are. We were 
on our way to enlist in the army at Chattanooga, 
and this is the way we get handled.” 

“Don’t believe ’em,” said Alf. “Let’s search 
’em.” 

“Why not wait until we get back to Judson? 
Easier to do it there.” 

“All right,” replied Alf. “You two ride along 
beside ’em. I’m done up totin’ this gun.” 

The procession started again. Tom heard Wil- 
son whisper to Shadrack: “Keep to the story!” 

“No talking, there!” ordered one of the horse- 
men. “You can do all your talking when you get 
to Judson.” 

It was nearly six o’clock when they reached the 
little town of Judson. As they went down the 
main street, men and boys tagged along beside 
them, plying the guards with questions. The 
guards waved them aside, and answered, “Don’t 
know if it’s them or not. Picked ’em up a piece 
down the road.” 

They stopped at a two-story frame building 
labeled “Hotel.” One of the guards went in, 
then motioned to the others to bring the prisoners. 


CAPTURED 


183 


Presently they found themselves in a big room, 
lighted by two lamps which hung from the ceiling. 
The air was cloudy with smoke. A dozen men 
sat about at the tables. Instantly there was com- 
motion. Everyone commenced talking. 

“Got three of ’em!” shouted Alf. “Three of 
’em, Judge.” 

“He thinks he has,” said Wilson. 

“You better keep your mouth shut,” yelled Alf. 

“No use talkin’ like that, Alf,” said the man 
addressed as Judge. “Where did you find 
them?” 

“Down the Ringgold road about five miles.” 

A murmur arose from the men. 

“I can tell a Yank one mile off,” boasted Alf. 

“I can tell a fool just as far away as I can see 
you,” interrupted Wilson. 

“You ...” 

“Now, Alf, keep quiet,” said the Judge. 
“What were you men doing down the Ringgold 
road?” 

“We were trying to get to Chattanooga,” Tom 
replied. “We got started on the wrong road this 
morning. ’ ’ 

Wilson broke in: “We tried to tell this wild 
man with his rifle that we were going to enlist in 
the army. We ’ve sneaked through the Union lines 


184 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


from Kentucky, and came across the Tennessee 
yesterday. Then we got on the wrong road. This 
fellow held us up and arrested us in the name of 
the law for something-or-other. I don’t know yet 
what we’re arrested for.” 

“For burning bridges,” yelled Alf. “That’s 
what I arrested you for.” 

“All right,” answered Wilson. “We’re ar- 
rested for burning bridges. Whose bridges? 
What bridges?” 

“We’re getting a whole lot of encouragement 
to fight for the South,” said Tom. 

“He’s crazier than any Yank I’ve ever seen 
in my life,” remarked Shadrack, nodding toward 
Alf. 

“Search ’em,” demanded Alf. “That’ll show 
you whether I’m right or not.” 

“Now, Alf,” said the Judge, “you go on out 
to the kitchen and get something to eat. I’ll ex- 
amine these prisoners and I’ll see that you get 
the credit for capturing them if they are the 
Yanks. Go on, now.” He pushed Alf gently to- 
ward the door. Alf, still protesting, disappeared 
reluctantly into the kitchen. The Judge shook 
his head, laughing. 

“That man acts a little crazy,” said Tom. 

“Oh, he’s hot-headed,” said the Judge. “He 


CAPTURED 


185 


gets one idea and he can’t think of anything else. 
Lock the door, Joe, so we won’t be disturbed. 
And lock the kitchen door, too, or Alf ’ll be back. 
Now let’s search these men, and see what we can 
find.” 

Tom, Shadrack, and Wilson held their arms up, 
while the men dumped the contents of their pock- 
ets on a table. Three revolvers, handkerchiefs, 
Confederate money . . . They found nothing 
of importance. 

“Now let’s sit down here and talk this thing 
over,” said the Judge. “Where do you men say 
you come from?” 

“From Fleming County, Kentucky,” replied 
Wilson. “We were getting tired of the way the 
Yanks were running things and so we decided 
that we’d go and fight for the South. We started 
out last week and made our way through the lines. 
It was easy. We didn’t see a single Union 
sentry.” 

“Where did you come across the river?” de- 
manded the Judge. 

“A few miles this side of Decatur,” said Tom. 

One of the men beside the Judge interrupted: 
“There aren’t any ferries running up there.” 

“I know there aren’t,” answered Tom. “We 
were afraid to tell anyone what we were going to 


186 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


do until we got across the river, and so we had 
to build a raft. ’ ’ 

“A raft!” exclaimed the Judge. 

“Yes, out of logs. I got washed overboard and 
I grabbed on to one of the logs and held there. 
Look at my hands.’ ’ He spread his hands out 
upon the table, palms up. They had been torn and 
bruised by the logs he had yanked from the 
tender. 

“Hm-m-m!” grunted the Judge, “must have 
whipped you around some in that current ! ’ ’ 

“Once it whirled me right over, and I thought 
my wrists would break before I could get another 
grip. They were trying to pull me aboard, but 
every time they came to help me the raft tilted 
so that they had to crawl back.” 

* ( ‘ And finally, ’ ’ said Wilson, ‘ ‘ I got down on my 
stomach and held to his wrists, while Shadrack 
sat on the other side and balanced us.” 

“I came mighty near going overboard myself, 
then,” added Shadrack. 

It was a good yarn, and they enlarged upon 
it. 

“And so you’re going to enlist, eh?” asked the 
Judge finally. 

“Yes,” answered Wilson. “We thought that 
Chattanooga would be a good place for us. It’s 


CAPTURED 187 

near Beauregard and we’ll probably get into ac- 
tion pretty soon.” 

“It’s not so near to Beauregard as you think,” 
the Judge answered. “The Yanks have taken a 
bite out of the railroad between there and 
Corinth.” 

“They have?” asked Tom. “Is that what this 
man Alf was so excited about ? ’ ’ 

“No — not exactly,” replied the Judge. “Some 
Yanks stole a train on the Georgia State Railroad 
yesterday and burned a bridge.” 

“Stole a train!” 

‘ * That ’s what they did ! ” He gave them a wild 
and inaccurate account of what Andrews ’ raiders 
had done. “A daring bit of work!” he ended. 

“Judge, we’re famished,” said "Wilson. “Do 
you think we could get some supper here?” 

“Joe, run out to the kitchen and see if Mrs. 
James can give these boys some dinner. And tell 
Alf that I don’t want to be disturbed.” 

Dinner came and they ate ravenously. The 
Judge sat across the table from them, talking with 
some of his friends. Obviously, the atmosphere 
had changed, now that Alf was no longer there 
to incite trouble, but they noticed that the Judge 
took good care to keep the revolvers out of their 
reach. What did he think? Did he believe their 


188 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

story? Were they to be set free again, or would 
they be taken to Chattanooga ? 

“Now, boys,” said the Judge as they pnshed 
back from the table, “I want you to stay here in 
this hotel for the night. Tomorrow you can go 
to Chattanooga and enlist.” It was a request 
which amounted to a command. 

“Well, sir,” replied Wilson, “we’ll be glad to 
stay here and have a good night’s rest. We need 
it.” 

“Joe, you show them their rooms. I’ll keep 
these for the present, if you don’t mind.” He 
motioned towards the revolvers. “You can take 
the other things.” 

They nodded and said good-night. Joe handed 
them candles and they followed him upstairs. 
“Here’s one room,” he said. “Two of you can 
sleep there.” 

“You and Shadrack take it,” said Tom to Wil- 
son. “Good-night.” They shook hands. 

“Here’s the other,” said Joe, leading the way 
down the corridor. Tom entered his room, said 
good-night to Joe, then closed the door and com- 
menced to investigate. It was a narrow room 
with one window looking out upon the yard. He 
opened the window and looked down. In the dim 
light which came from the room in which they had 


CAPTURED 


IS9 


been sitting downstairs lie could see a wagon 
drawn up beside the house; there was a stack of 
farm tools against the wagon, and the ground was 
strewn with objects he could not make out. Just a 
mixture of things which had been thrown there 
for want of a better place, he thought. The win- 
dow of the next room was within a foot of his own 
window. He leaned over and peered in, but he 
could see nothing. Then he put his ear against 
the thin wall and listened. He could hear no 
sound but the mumble of voices from the room 
downstairs; those he could hear distinctly. He 
glanced about the floor, wondering if the sound 
was coming up through a crack. A patch of tin 
caught his eye and he carried the candle over to 
examine it. It was about a foot square, covering 
a stove-pipe hole, and was held in place by four 
tacks. He pulled out his knife, loosened one tack 
and bent the corner up. Then he put his ear down 
and listened. 

Alf had just returned to the room. “Why not 
take ’em to Chattanooga now?” he was demand- 
ing. “Turn ’em over to the authorities.” 

“Now, Alf,” said the Judge, “I’m taking care 
of this. The men are upstairs going to bed, and 
Joe is in the hall on guard. If they’ve come all 
the way from Kentucky to fight for the South, we 


190 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

don’t want to make them hate the South so much 
that they’ll be sorry they came. If they are Yanks 
we’ll have plenty of time to deal with them to- 
morrow. I’m going over to Chattanooga with 
them in the morning and turn them over to the 
authorities. They can do whatever they think 
best.” 

“I’d take ’em over tonight,” answered Alf. 

The conversation, carried along upon those 
lines, lasted for half an hour, with the Judge dom- 
inating. One of the men said, finally, “Oh, for 
Lord’s sake, Alf, shut up!” For a minute it 
seemed that the two men would fight, but the 
Judge quieted them. They called for drinks and 
cards, and commenced playing. 

Tom left the hole, and continued his investiga- 
tions. With Joe on guard in the hall, there seemed 
to be no chance of warning Wilson and Shadrack. 
But perhaps Joe might leave for a moment. Then 
he could run down the hall, enter their room and 
spend the night, plotting out a way of escaping. 
He decided to remain at the hole, listening for 
Joe’s voice. But first he barred the door with a 
chair. 

A half-hour passed. Then the door of the room 
downstairs opened with a bang. The man who 
had entered announced: “They’ve captured two 


CAPTURED 


191 


of the engine stealers over at Julian’s Gap ! They 
confessed to it, but first they told a cock-and-bull 
yarn about coming from Fleming County, Ken- 
tucky, to join the Southern troops!” 

“What?” yelled the Judge 

“There you are!” Alf shouted triumphantly. 
“Get ’em!” 

Tom jumped to his feet. There was no time to 
warn Wilson and Shadrack. He could hear the 
boots pounding up the stairs. He sprang to the 
window and threw it open. To jump on that mess 
of farm tools below him would probably mean a 
broken leg. Leaning far out, he reached around 
and pushed up the window of the next room, 
climbed in and closed his own window. Through 
the wall he could hear them banging at his door. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


ESCAPING 

Tom stood in the center of the dark room and 
listened to the tumult in the corridor. They were 
pounding at the door of the room he had just de- 
serted, wrenching at the knob. 

i ‘ Open up there ! ’ ’ yelled Alf . 1 1 Open up ! ’ ’ 

Then came a crash as the door splintered. Alf ’s 
voice sounded in rage of fury: “Gone!” 

Tom heard him bolt from the room and up the 
corridor, screaming: “Is he in there with the 
other two? Have you got them?” 

Then the Judge’s voice: “We’ve got these 
two. Where’s the other?” 

“Gone!” answered Alf. “Escaped! I told 
you ...” 

“Joe!” boomed the Judge. 

“Here I am, sir.” 

“Have you been here all the time?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

‘ 1 The dirty rat let him escape . . . ” 

“Shut up, Alf! Have you been here all the 
time, Joe?” 


192 


ESCAPING 193 

“Yes, sir. I’ve been right here, sir. I didn’t 
leave for a second.” 

Alf yelled: “Look out the window! He 
jumped out the window! Run around outside!” 
He came bounding down the hall again, entered 
the room, and threw open the window. 

Tom could see his head in the candle light. He 
shifted back closer to the wall, his heart pound- 
ing. “Look through them bushes,” yelled Alf to 
the men who had run into the yard. He let the 
window slam shut and went up the hall. Then: 
“ Where ’d that other one go? Come on! Out 
with it! You know!” 

“Don’t try any of that,” said the Judge. 
“You’re wasting your time. These men don’t 
know anything about it. Joe was here in the 
corridor.” 

A few seconds later, Tom heard Alf’s voice in 
the yard: “He’s got away. Get horses! If we 
only had a pack of dogs ...” The noise in 
the corridor ceased, and the men clumped down 
the stairs, leading Wilson and Shadrack with 
them. The sound of voices in the yard grew in- 
distinct and far away. 

Tom began quietly to investigate his new room. 
It was on the corner of the house, and there were 
two windows — the one through which Tom had en^ 


194 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

tered, and another which looked out to the rear. 
He felt his way along the wall and came to a wash- 
stand and a chair. He took the chair and wedged 
it silently under the door-knob ; then stole across 
to the rear window. It was black dark out- 
side. After a few minutes, he raised the win- 
dow and listened. Men were yelling in the dis- 
tance. Apparently they were starting on a wild 
night chase in the hopes of finding him on the 
road. 

“If you had more sense and less energy, Alf,” 
muttered Tom, “you might get me.” The vision 
of Andrews’ calmness during the raid flashed 
across his mind. “Let them get excited,” he said 
to himself ; “you keep your wits.” 

Then he heard the Judge’s voice, booming in 
front of the hotel: “Tell them to get that wagon 
around here in a hurry — we’ll get these two en- 
gine stealers started for Chattanooga, and hunt 
down the other one when it’s light.” 

Tom left the window and snatched up the bed- 
clothes, knotted the blankets together and tied 
them around the leg of the bed. They would 
shorten his drop to a few feet, so that the noise 
would not be heard above the general commotion. 
Then he waited until he heard the wagon creak up 
before the hotel and stop. The crowd followed the 


ESCAPING £195 

prisoners and their guards out to watch the de- 
parture. 

Tom opened the window and tossed the blankets 
down; then he squirmed to the sill, clutched the 
blankets with his hands and knees, and slid. He 
dropped to the ground noiselessly, and stood for 
a moment scanning the yard for obstacles. Thirty 
or forty yards ahead of him there was a row of 
bushes which led into the woods south of the vil- 
lage. That would be the best way, he decided. 
Then he changed his mind, for it was too obvi- 
ously the best way — others would think of it too, 
and look for him there. To the bushes, then, and 
across the road to the north at the first opportu- 
nity. He took off his shoes, tied them together 
through a button-hole so that he could not drop 
them, and raced, crouching, across the open space. 
In the bushes, he stopped and listened. The crowd 
was yelling and talking in front of the hotel. Re- 
gardless of the stones and twigs which cut into 
his feet, he pressed on through the bushes as rap- 
idly as he dared, skirting the yard and avoiding 
the woods which lay to his left. A dog yipped 
frantically, and Tom stopped; then he decided 
that the dog was aimlessly sharing in the excite- 
ment, and went forward again. 

Five minutes later, he sat on the ground and 


196 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

began scraping the accumulation of mud and 
twigs from his socks. He pulled his shoes on, 
laced and tied them ; then he stood up and began 
to make his calculations. In leaving the hotel he 
had gone west ; now, with the village on his right, 
he was facing northward, and the Tennessee River 
was directly ahead of him, probably four or five 
miles. The sky was heavily clouded and there 
were no stars by which he could set his course 
through the fields and woods which lay between 
him and the river. There was a road going north- 
ward from the hotel, but it would be inviting cap- 
ture to follow it. The best he could do, he de- 
cided, was to parallel the road, stealing to the 
right every half-hour or so until he came to it, 
then stealing back again until he was under 
cover. 

Presently he heard the wagon creaking, its 
wheels sinking through the mud and grinding 
upon the solid ground beneath. Men were talk- 
ing, but he could not distinguish what they said. 
Poor Wilson and Shadrack! Prisoners, and 
bound for Chattanooga under heavy guard! As 
he stood there listening, a sense of utter helpless- 
ness wrenched at him. He could do nothing but 
fight his own way back to the lines. Plans for 
going to their rescue tumbled over each other in 


ESCAPING 19T 

Iris mind, but all of them were hopelessly inade- 
quate. 

When the wagon had passed, he walked to the 
Chattanooga road and crossed, plunging into the 
bushes on the other side. Once again he took his 
bearings, and hurried northward as quietly as he 
could. The branches whipped in his face ; some- 
times he stumbled and fell. Once he walked into 
a ditch half-filled with water, and sprawled on 
the slippery mud of the bank. Then he came to a 
field where his feet sank in the gumbo over his 
shoe-tops. His feet accumulated mud until he was 
obliged to stop and scrape it off with his hands. 
But he labored forward, step after step. 

After an hour, he turned to the right and went 
towards the road to make sure of his course. He 
reached it after more than a half-hour ’s walk. 

“Must have veered off to the left,” he mut- 
tered; then he silently retraced his steps for ten 
minutes, and turned northward again. 

AJiead of him he made out a farmhouse, so he 
went on a long detour to avoid arousing the dogs. 
An hour later, he struck back toward the road 
again, and found it after fifteen minutes’ walking. 

“That’s better,” he said. He was puffing from 
the exertion of dragging himself through the mud, 
so he sat near the road and rested. His ears 


198 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


caught the sound of horses’ hoofs. He worked 
his way to the roadside and waited there to over- 
hear a scrap of the conversation, for the riders 
were talking. 

“ . . . trying to tell Alf, ’ ’ were the first words 
he caught. 

“He’s too crazy to listen,” answered the other. 
“Can’t find a man on a night like this. He won’t 
be fool enough to travel on the road, anyhow. Bet- 
ter wait until daylight, I says to Alf, but he goes 
raving ’round like a mad dog into the woods.” 

“Well, we’ll go to the river an’ lay low there. 
Probably he’ll come popping out along ’bout 
noon.” 

“Can’t get across the river, anyhow, can he?” 

1 1 Can ’t tell about a Y ank. Who ’d have thought 
they’d have stole an engine?” 

“Yeh, that’s right ...” 

So they were posting a guard along the river! 
That was valuable information. And Alf was in 
the woods! 

At three o’clock in the morning Tom spread his 
cape upon the ground and sank down to rest. The 
long struggle through the mud had become a 
nightmare. He was too exhausted to care greatly 
if the man-hunt ended with him a prisoner — if it 
would only end. To be out of this sea of jelly-like 


ESCAPING 


199 


mud would be enough. He lay there breathing 
heavily, his body aching and throbbing. Minutes 
passed. Then he became vaguely aware of a faint 
roaring. He listened for a moment, but it meant 
nothing to him. Presently the sound came to his 
ears again, and he sat up. 

“The river !” he exclaimed at last. He forgot 
his exhaustion and sprang to his feet. During the 
past two hours he had been straining to catch that 
sound, and now he wanted to rush forward, reck- 
lessly. But he held himself in check, remember- 
ing the conversation he had overheard, and ap- 
proached slowly, choosing each step of the way. 
Many times he paused to listen; the noise of the 
rushing water seemed nearer, but always far 
away, just out of his reach. It was maddening. 
Again and again he felt himself becoming un- 
nerved by the mud and the darkness and the idea 
of being hunted. 

The clouds were breaking, and a faint blue light 
seeped through the rifts. It was as though the 
trees and bushes had grown magically from the 
blackness, only to dissolve in blackness again as 
the rifts closed. For a moment he paused, 
thinking that he had heard the sound of voices. 
Ten minutes passed while he crouched in the mud, 
listening. There was another brief instant of 


£00 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

moonlight, this time brighter, and the shadows 
cast by the trees seemed living, moving things. 
Tom could feel his heart thumping. 

“Don’t get excited,” he muttered to himself. 
It was encouraging and comforting to hear the 
sound of his own voice: “Don’t be a fool and 
lose your wits — and spoil your chances.” 

To his left was a forest, and directly ahead of 
him ran a long row of bushes. He wanted to 
avoid the forest, so he hurried as fast as he could 
across the field during the next interval of dark- 
ness. Then came another wait of five minutes, 
and another dash forward. He gained the bushes 
and discovered that he had come to a road. It 
bordered the river, he decided, for now the rush of 
the water seemed directly before him. Just as he 
was about to cross the road, he caught the beat 
of a horse ’s hoofs upon the mud. A minute later 
the horse galloped past ; Tom had a brief glimpse 
of the rider, with his rifle held in the crook of his 
arm. 

Tom crossed the road and entered the thicket 
on the other side. Now the river sounded below 
him, and he decided that he must be close to the 
edge of an embankment. He crept forward slowly 
on his hands and knees through the tangle of 
branches, feeling the ground before him. One 


ESCAPING 


201 

hand went off into space, and he groped about. 
Then he drew back and waited for another mo- 
ment of moonlight to show him his position. When 
it came, a few minutes later, he saw the Tennes- 
see, swollen and tossing, forty feet below him. He 
was on the edge of a sheer embankment. 

“ Can’t do it here,” he said, moving away. He 
crawled back to the road, crossed it, and walked 
in the direction of Chattanooga. Presently he 
heard someone yelling in the distance. He de- 
cided that it was the horseman calling a farmer 
from his bed and warning him of the escaped 
Yankee. 

After a half-hour of slow traveling, he made 
his way towards the river again. Now the dawn 
was coming, and the water rippled luminously as 
Tom looked over the embankment. At this point, 
the descent to the water’s edge was more gradual 
— a straight drop of twelve feet, then a slope of 
gravel. Once down there, he would have no choice 
-but to swim the river, and swimming in such a 
current was no easy matter. Would it be better, 
he asked himself, to go farther down, to risk an- 
other half-hour in exploring! 

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by 
voices on the road, twenty yards behind him. A 
man said: “Reckon this is as good a spot as any. 


202 l tom of the raiders 

Out there I can see as far up as Johnson’s and 
a mile down. ’ 9 

“Suit yourself,” answered the other; “you 
know the country. I’ll go down an’ get Phipps 
out if nobody else has. Then I’ll be back along up 
this way and tell the boys that you’re here.” 

“You say this Yank’s a young man?” 

“ ’Bout twenty, I’d say.” 

“How many of them were there that stole the 
train?” 

“The stories are all different. Some say five 
and some say fifty. Can’t tell. Well, I’ll see you 
later.” 

Tom swung over the edge of the embankment 
and dropped. He struck the loose gravel and 
rolled down with the gravel sliding after him in 
a great wave. It seemed incredible that the men 
should not hear him, but he trusted to the noise 
of the river and ran down along the water’s edge. 
Presently he came to a large rock projecting from 
the embankment and dodged behind it. There he 
sank down to get breath for his next move. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 

Tom began to explore the rock behind which he 
had taken refuge. It projected several feet from 
the side of the embankment, and the wash of the 
water in former days when the river was even 
higher than at present had carried away the dirt 
on the down-stream side, forming a small pocket. 
In the darkness, he ran his hands over the wall 
of it. There was room enough for him there if 
he sat with his knees drawn up under his chin. He 
squeezed himself in, and fell to considering what 
he had better do next. 

He decided that it would be hopeless to try 
swimming the river at this point, after his night- 
long struggle through the mud. He was too tired, 
and the current would simply toss him about. On 
the other hand, it was too dangerously near dawn 
to attempt going farther down the river in hopes 
of finding a place where the current was not so 
strong. If he spent the day here would he be 
stronger when night came again after having gone 
twenty-four hours without food! But with the 

203 


204 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

next night clear before him, there was at least a 
slight chance that he might find some means of 
getting across. It wasn’t quite clear in his mind 
what such means might be. However, luck had 
been with him in escaping from the hotel. Poor 
Wilson and Shadrack! They were in Chatta- 
nooga by this time. At any event, swimming was 
out of the question for the present. Sleep was 
the most important thing. The thoughts which 
had been hammering through his head were lost 
as he dozed off. Then, a few minutes later, he 
awoke with a start. Every muscle in his body was 
cramped and aching. He shook himself awake, 
felt around until he came to a large flat stone. 
With this he scraped away several feet of dirt at 
the side of the pocket. Then he climbed in again, 
braced himself against the wall and kicked more 
dirt loose with his heels. Alternating with the 
rock and his heels, he made the pocket long enough 
so that he could stretch out comfortably. Then 
he scraped away the back wall, so that there was 
no danger of being seen from above, and piled 
rocks along the edge of the pocket, so that he 
could not easily be seen from the opposite bank. 
That completed, he crawled in and scooped out 
dirt with his hands, to make the bottom of the 
pocket conform to his body. Then, with a sigh 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 


205 


which expressed his weariness and comfort in a 
breath, he plunged into sleep. 

It was noon when he awoke. He raised him- 
self on one elbow and glanced out over the rocks 
at the river. His joints protested at every move, 
and his muscles seemed bruised and hurt. He was 
thoroughly chilled, and yet his head felt hot. 

‘ ‘ Hm-m-m, a little fever, ’ ’ he said. He stripped 
off some of his clothes and began chafing his 
body; then he lay back and flexed his arms and 
legs in the scant room of the pocket. After a half- 
hour of this he could feel the blood flowing 
through him again. 

From the pocket, he could see across the river 
and down, where the embankment sloped towards 
Chattanooga. He peered cautiously out, trying 
to decide what he should do when night fell; but 
there seemed to be no choice except to swim, for he 
could see nothing that gave him an atom of en- 
couragement. And the swift current of the river 
swept on as far as his eyes could reach. 

He settled himself again on the floor of his 
hiding-place. Hunger was gnawing at him, and 
which was more difficult to bear, he was thirsty. 
He shut his eyes and lay quietly. After a few 
minutes he sat up, and fell to rubbing his body 
again. Towards the middle of the afternoon he 


206 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

drifted off into an uneasy, troubled sleep. People 
— friends from home, his companions on the raid 
— approached him in his dreams, and promised to 
bring water; then they went away, talking and 
laughing, and forgot to come back. Again and 
again he asked them, and always they promised. 
He awakened himself by crying, “ Please l 
Please !” 

His body ached and throbbed ; it was painful to 
move. His throat was parched, and his tongue 
felt swollen. After he had pounded and rubbed 
his muscles again, he sat up and looked out. The 
sun was setting, and the river appeared to be a 
long shimmering ribbon of gold. He let his eyes ' 
wander along it slowly. A large oblong thing, 
which rested near the waters edge about three- 
quarters of a mile below him, caught his attention. 
At first it seemed a mere trick of the shadows; 
then, as he watched it more closely, he wondered 
if it could be a flatboat, drawn out of the water. 
He sat gazing at it anxiously. The minutes passed 
and he forgot that he was hungry and thirsty. 

* ‘ It ’s a flatboat or a raft, ’ ’ he said to himself. 

Finally the sun set, and Tom waited in an agony 
of suspense while the dusk slowly turned into 
darkness. As the time for him to move ap- 
proached, his thirst became almost unbearable. 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 


2G7 

The rush of the water, which was the only noise 
he could hear, was tantalizing, maddening. His 
body felt as though it were being consumed by a 
slow fire, which mounted steadily to his head, sick- 
ening him and making him dizzy. He wanted to 
kick the stones away, spring from his hiding-place 
and rush down to the water’s edge, plunge his 
face into the cool water and take great gulps of 
it . . . Yet he sat quietly, his hands clenched, 
forcing his mind to think of other things. Across 
the river, the embankment became a soft blue- 
green blur, which turned darker and darker. The 
ripples of the river caught the last rays of light, 
flashing as though the surface were in flames. 

“I’ll get out,” he said to himself, “when I can’t 
see the water. ’ ’ Then, grimly : 4 ‘ And not before. ’ ’ 
He looked down the river again towards the 
oblong object which had caught his attention, but 
it was lost in the night. 

“Must be careful when I go to drink,” he mut- 
tered. “Just a sip at first. Then another sip in 
a minute or so.” 

He began to take the stones away from the 
opening of the pocket ; then he swung his feet out 
and sat on the edge. He glanced up : there was 
no moon, and the sky was filled with heavy clouds. 
The rim of the embankment where the guards had 


208 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


spent the day watching for him was scarcely dis- 
tinguishable. He got to his feet and leaned weakly 
against the rock. 

“Whew! Weak as a baby! Water’ll make me 
feel better.’ ’ The effort of rising had made him 
dizzy, and his legs were like soft rubber beneath 
him. His knees seemed to bend in all directions 
under his weight. ‘ ‘ Better crawl, ’ ’ he muttered ; 
then he sank to his hands and knees. He found 
himself laughing as he made his way to the water, 
and it struck him suddenly that he was delirious. 
That realization had the effect of clearing his 
mind instantly. “Careful about drinking,” he 
cautioned himself. “Just one sip.” 

Water! He put his face in it, took a mouthful 
and let some of it trickle down his throat. He spat 
the rest out and pushed back from the stream. 
Presently he was at the edge again, bathing his 
face and taking little sips. Dizziness came over 
him like a great wave which caught him up and 
spun him around. He lay flat and waited for it to 
pass ; then he felt better. 

After a few minutes he arose and commenced 
to walk back and forth over a small strip of sand, 
limbering his muscles. Finally he stripped off 
the damp clothes and stood naked in the shelter 
of the rock, pounding and chafing his body until 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 209 

it glowed. Gradually lie overcame the paralysis 
of the cold. 1 ‘ Legs, ’ ’ he said, rubbing and beating 
them savagely, 1 ‘ when I tell you to move, don’t 
take five minutes about it. Now, move!” While 
the legs did not respond with alacrity, they 
showed improvement. His nervous system, which 
transmitted the orders of his mind to his body, 
seemed asleep — or broken like the telegraph lines 
they had torn down along the route of the raid. 
But slowly his nerves awoke, and strength re- 
placed the numbness. 

Hunger seized him, and so, remembering the 
stories he had heard of Indians tightening their 
belts during famines, he wound his underdrawers 
about his stomach, pulling the legs taut, then tying 
them. 1 6 Poor substitute for a meal, ’ ’ he mumbled, 
laughing. At least, he could laugh now, and that 
counted for something. He dressed and went to 
the water for another drink; then he began to 
pace slowly along the strip of sand, not daring to 
sit down and risk becoming numbed again. 

“ Better wait here for a few hours,” he said. 
“They’ll probably get sick of watching and seeing 
nothing but black night. Later I’ll go down and 
see what that thing is. If it’s a flatboat or a raft, 
I’ll try to get across on that. If it isn’t, I’ll climb 
up the bank and get a log. Then I’ll try swim- 


210 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

ming across holding to it. That’ll keep me up if 
I get a cramp. Lord, I’m hungry! Guess I’d bet- 
ter not think about it. I’m talking to myself as 
though I’d reached my second childhood. Oh, 
well . . He paused and looked up toward 
the embankment. “You thought you’d get me, 
didn’t you, Alf? Not this Yankee!” 

So the next two hours passed, while Tom walked 
back and forth, keeping the blood stirring in his 
veins, talking to himself. At last he decided that 
the time had come for him to go down the river. 
He took up a small stick to help him feel the way 
along the shore, pulled his sodden felt hat down 
securely on his head, and started, picking his way 
carefully and silently among the stones. After 
a few minutes he began to zig-zag along the bank 
so that he could not possibly miss that oblong 
thing for which he was searching. He was won- 
dering if he had passed it, or if, after all, it had 
just been a trick of the shadows, when his stick 
sounded hollowly against a wooden object. He 
leaned forward and felt of it. It was a flatboat ! 

In the darkness he walked about it, running his 
hands along the edge. It measured about ten feet 
by fourteen feet, he decided. Then he climbed in 
and felt of the bottom. At one corner there was 
a hole. The boat had probably been washed loose 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 


211 


from its mooring during some previous flood time, 
and had come ashore here, striking the rocks. Cer- 
tainly it had not been in the water for a long time, 
for the bottom boards were warped, with gaping 
seams between them. 

“But it’s a boat,” said Tom, as he got out. He 
went to the water ; the end of the flatboat was two 
yards from the river. Then he went back, clutched 
the end and tried to move it. Exerting all his 
strength, the boat barely stirred. 

“Whew! Too heavy for me.” He tried again, 
but with no better success. “Have to get a 
lever,” he panted. 

He spent the next ten minutes feeling about the 
beach, hoping that he would come upon something 
which he could use to pry the boat forward. But 
there was nothing; the beach was bare of every- 
thing except rocks and sand. For a moment he 
stood there, too keenly disappointed to know what 
he should do next. Then he turned toward the 
embankment. 

Halfway up, a stone upon which he was stand- 
ing became dislodged and tumbled to the bottom, 
carrying rush of gravel with it. Tom, clinging 
to an exposed root, waited breathlessly, expecting 
an outcry from some guard who had heard the 
noise. He secured another footing, reached 


212 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

higher on the root, and dragged himself up an- 
other foot. Presently his head came over the 
edge ; then he found a little tree which would bear 
his weight, swung a leg over and squirmed to the 
top. Again he waited, listening and getting his 
breath. 

He crawled through the bushes on his hands 
and knees, pressing down the branches and se- 
lecting each inch of the way. Presently he came 
to the road. Another wait to catch the sound of 
a guard. Then forward again. 

‘ ‘ There !” he exclaimed, as his hand touched a 
rail fence. He arose and pressed down on the top 
rail, testing it for strength. It bent too easily 
under his weight, so he tried the one underneath. 
That was stronger. Silently he disengaged the 
ends of the top rail and laid it on the ground ; then 
he took up the rail he wanted, held it above his 
head and swung it over the bushes until it pointed 
towards the river. He made his way to the center 
of it, balanced it carefully over one shoulder and 
started creeping for the river again. 

The barking of a dog stopped him just as he 
crossed the road. The suddenness of the barking 
made it seem as though the dog were at his heels, 
but he realized, as he collected himself, that the 
animal was a considerable distance away. Prob- 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 


213 


ably it was at the farm where the horseman had 
recruited a guard the night before, Tom decided. 
He hurried through the bushes and narrowly es- 
caped tumbling over the edge of the embank- 
ment. He went down again, pulling the rail after 
him and letting it slip to the bottom. 

“Now I’ll move you,” he said to the flatboat. 
First he rolled stones away, clearing the path to 
the water; next he went behind the boat, shoved 
the rail under and heaved upward. The rail 
curved under the strain, then the boat slid for- 
ward, grinding on the sand. One foot nearer the 
water. Tom took off his coat, threw it aboard, 
and worked the boat forward another foot. At 
last the forward end was in the river, with the 
water lapping against it. He stopped for breath. 

Once again he heard the barking of a dog, this 
time nearer. Then again, still nearer. Presently 
he heard a man shouting, and another man an- 
swer him. They were on the road above him, and 
the dog was yipping with excitement. 

Tom drew back to the embankment, every nerve 
throbbing. So they were chasing him with dogs ! 

Then a man’s voice: “Don’t see nothing here. 
That good-for-nothing cur — bringing us out in 
the middle of the night to chase squirrels. Come 
here, Stub!” Tom heard the yelp of the dog as 


21 4 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


the man kicked it. ‘ ‘ Teach ye to git us up in the 
middle of the night fer nothing.” Again the dog 
yelped. 

“Ain’t this about where Saunders’ old boat 
is?” asked the other man. 

“ Yeh, I reckon so. There you can see it — right 
down there.” 

“Ain’t it nearer the water? Say, you don’t 
s’pose . . .?” 

“Naw, that’s because the water’s high — mighty 
near as high as it was three years ago. Get out 
of here, you mangy cur!” Another yelp. “He 
couldn’t get across in that sieve. Couldn’t get it 
into the water, for one thing. Come on, let’s go 
back. I tell ye that Yank ain’t . . . ” The rest 
of his words were lost as they left the embank- 
ment and went back to the road. 

Tom, breathing more easily, waited for five 
minutes, then picked up his rail and shoved it 
under the boat. “If you had as much sense as 
your dog, mister, you’d be all right.” That was 
his parting shot at the two men as he gave an- 
other heave at the rail. Water was pouring into 
the boat, so he stuffed his coat into the hole. That 
would keep the boat from filling so rapidly, at 
least. 

Two more heaves at the rail and the current 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 215 

caught the forward end, swinging it around 
slightly. Another heave; and he jumped aboard, 
dragging the rail after him. He stood up and 
poled the boat away from the shore. The current 
turned it end for end; he changed his rail to the 
other side, reached down for the bottom and gave 
another shove, which sent him out into the full 
flow of the Tennessee River. 

The flatboat had shipped about two inches of 
water, and more was entering just as fast as it 
could flow through the cracks. “But it’s a boat,” 
Tom repeated. “And she’ll be a boat until she 
sinks — and then I’m a swimmer.” 

He tried to reach the bottom of the river with 
his rail, but the water washed it aside; then he 
tried to steer by holding the rail against the up- 
stream side, but the old boat was in no mood to 
answer a helm. She veered about in the current, 
twisting, turning, going sideways, wallowing in 
the uneven water. Tom, squatting in the center, 
watched its aimless, crazy actions, wondering 
what he could do to get it edging towards the op- 
posite shore. The w r ater was mounting higher; 
the boat was half -filled now, and the waves were 
splashing over. But still she careened, as though 
enjoying her new freedom, down the Tennessee. 

Tom glanced up, and saw, to his amazement, the 


216 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


lights of Chattanooga glowing like dim yellow 
stars in the darkness. Chattanooga ! And he was 
passing it in the darkness! He sat speechless 
watching the city as the current carried him 
along. 

Below Chattanooga there was a sharp bend in 
the river where it turned to the northward. He 
remembered that from studying the map. Would 
he be washed up on the same side of the river from 
which he had just escaped? Would it be better to 
jump overboard and swim, letting the boat drift 
wherever it pleased her? But there was no time 
for considering what might happen, and what he 
might do : he was already at the bend. The flat- 
boat, caught in the eddy, was whirling about diz- 
zily. Tom snatched up the rail and reached for 
the bottom, poling her off towards midstream 
whenever he could get the rail down. Gradually 
the boat drifted into the current, and started 
north. It had sunk far down in the water, and 
the waves slopped over the sides. 

“If you’ll last to the next turn!” exclaimed 
Tom prayerfully. He was sitting waist-deep in 
water, and his teeth were chattering. He was be- 
coming numb again, but there was no opportunity 
for exercise now. The old flatboat seemed ready 
to slide from under him at any minute. 


FIGHTING THE RIVER 217 

The next bend of the river, where it turned 
southward again, was only a few miles from 
where Tom had crossed in the ferryboat on his 
way to Chattanooga and Marietta. From that 
point he knew his way north. But the first ne- 
cessity was food. Hunger had become a sharp 
pain which tore at his stomach. He reached in- 
side his shirt, and wound the knot of under- 
drawers until it hurt. That pain was preferable 
to the other. 

The moon, half-hidden behind a bank of clouds, 
was beginning to flood the world with its light, 
showing the course of the river. Ahead of him, 
Tom could see the bend, where the stream seemed 
to end in the black shore. He reached along the 
bottom of the boat until he touched his coat, pulled 
it out of the hole ; then he stripped off: his clothes 
and wrapped them together in his cape. With 
this soggy bundle tied around his neck he waited, 
shivering, as the boat swung out of the main cur- 
rent toward the north bank. Then he jumped. 

It seemed hours before he could get his legs and 
arms working; then, as he started to swim, he felt 
a wrenching pain in his stomach. His arms 
worked spasmodically, beating against the water, 
dragging him slowly ahead. An eddy caught him 
and rolled him over. He righted himself and put 


218 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

his legs down; his toes touched the bottom for 
an instant, then lost it. The bundle of clothes 
seemed to press him down, deeper and deeper into 
the water. Then he felt his feet squarely on the 
bottom, and he struggled out of the water. At 
last, he was across the Tennessee. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 

Dawn found Tom near the house of the ferry- 
man who had taken him across on his trip South. 
Rather than risk another walk through fields and 
woods, he had chosen to follow the bank of the 
river until he came to a road. That course, even 
though it was longer, made less demand upon his 
strength, for the walking was easier. 

He skirted the ferryman’s house and took to 
the road. For a little while at least he would be 
safe from interference; then, when light came, he 
would forage for food. Food ... It had been 
thirty-six hours since he had eaten — so long ago 
that the pains in his stomach had stopped. He 
was weak and dizzy, and the importance of ever 
reaching the Union lines shrunk as he thought of 
finding something to eat — anything. Security? 
What good was security if it meant starvation? 
“Oh, shut up, and keep your legs moving,” he 
said to himself wrathfully, shaking such thoughts 
from his head. He took another twist at the im- 
219 


220 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

provised hunger belt. It really did help, he de- 
cided. 

At his left he saw Murdock’s house, and the 
words of the negro boy came back to him : ‘ 4 He 
keeps dawgs.” Dogs for tracking down escaping 
slaves — or Yankees. Now, for the first time, it 
seemed to Tom that the rain which had fallen 
during the past week was befriending him. The 
ground was too wet to hold a scent. If Murdock’s 
“dawgs” were brought out to chase him, they 
would become hopelessly muddled and lost. Nev- 
ertheless, his step quickened. After he had 
walked another mile, the faster pace began to 
tell upon him and he lagged. 

‘ 4 Have to rest, I guess,” he said, and he en- 
tered the woods. A chill seized him as soon as 
he sat down. He arose, and remarked: “If I sit 
down, I’m finished, and I can’t walk much farther. 
I wonder ...” 

He had been fighting the idea of going to the 
Beecham’s, or, rather, to Marjorie. She was the 
one person he knew south of the lines who would 
help him, yet he had been trying to keep the 
thought of going to her out of his mind. It might 
involve her in danger. Three miles above the 
Beecham’s there was another farm. He had 
planned to go there, to tell them that he had just 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 221 

come through the Union lines to enlist with the 
South, and ask for food. But now he realized 
that he could not walk four miles — one mile to the 
Beecham’s, then three more to the farm. If his 
legs would carry him for one mile, they would be 
doing well. It was difficult even to stand, and the 
woods and sky lurched and whirled about him. 

4 ‘ I’ll go to Marjorie/’ he muttered. 4 ‘Get word 
to her some way. She’ll help.” He started for 
the road, then stopped. If an alarm were raised, 
and Murdock’s dogs were brought out, they might 
track him along the road. Somewhere behind the 
Beecham’s house, running through the woods, 
there was a small stream. It came within three 
hundred yards of the house; then there was a 
long row of thick bushes which led up to the gar- 
den. The negroes ’ shanties were far to the other 
side. He had taken all of them in at a glance when 
he rode away. It seemed that years had passed 
since that day. 

He stumbled through the woods until he came 
to the stream ; then he splashed along through the 
water. That would kill the scent. He had read 
of slaves wading through streams to throw dogs 
off. He was just like an escaping slave now, he 
thought. It was curious that he should know all 
the dread and terror that they felt, that he should 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


be experiencing the same sort of man-hunt. He 
felt sick at the thought of all the brutality men 
were showing to each other — the killing, the de- 
struction of war, the gigantic effort to bring ruin 
down upon each other. Such ideas went streaking 
through his mind as he stumbled along the rough 
bed of the stream. It was incredible, unbeliev- 
able. The railroad raid seemed like some sick 
man’s dream, crazy, tortured, and awful. 

He knelt down in the water and splashed it over 
his face, took a drink. His head became clear 
again. He pulled himself to his feet. 

Through the trees he could see the Beecham’s 
house, stark white in the early morning light. It 
was after seven o’clock, he thought, and the fam- 
ily would soon be at breakfast. A small stream 
of smoke drifted up from the kitchen chimney, 
wavering and drooping in the still air. 

Tom left the stream and entered the bushes. 
When he was within fifty yards of the house, he 
dropped to the ground. An instant later, he felt 
himself going to sleep. It was like whirling 
through a great dark space to oblivion. 

He awoke two hours later, and felt the warm 
sun beating down upon him. He raised his head 
and glanced about, recollecting how he had come 
here. Then he squirmed through the branches 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 


223 


and looked toward the house. There, in the gar- 
den, stood Marjorie, snipping at a rose bush with 
a pair of scissors. 

“Marjorie!” he called hoarsely. She glanced 
at the house, as though she thought that someone 
there had called her. “Marjorie!” She turned 
in his direction. “It’s Tom Burns — over here. 
Down at the end of this row — in the bushes.” 
Her scissors dropped to the ground and her hands 
went to her throat in a gesture of alarnj. 4 4 Come 
here, ’ ’ he said. 4 4 But slowly — so that they won ’t 
know.” 

She recovered the scissors hurriedly and came 
toward him. 4 4 Where are you?” she gasped. 

4 4 Here — hiding. Stop at that last rose bush 
and pretend to be working. ’ ’ 

4 4 Oh, Tom — you escaped! You got away!” 

4 4 Yes, but I’m famished. Crossed the Tennes- 
see last night — nothing to eat since night before 
last. Can you . . . f” 

4 4 Yes, I’ll get you something,” she gasped. 
4 4 I’m so glad you escaped. I’ve been worried 
. . . Wait there.” 

She walked toward the house and entered. 
Presently she came out of the kitchen door and 
sauntered into the garden again. 

44 I told Mattie,, the cook,” she said as she came 




TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


near him and went to trimming the rose bush 
again. ‘ 4 She understands. Her little boy is going 
to bring you something to eat. Here he comes.’ ’ 

He looked out and saw the little colored boy, 
Jasper, running to the stable. He entered and 
appeared a second later out of the rear door ; then 
he made a wide detour to avoid being seen from 
the house, and disappeared in the woods. 

“As soon as he comes, go back until you’re out 
of sight of the house. I’ll meet you there. Watch 
for me.” 

“Yes — I understand.” 

She turned away, walked idly through the gar- 
den, and entered the kitchen again. Presently 
Tom heard the crackle of branches, and Jasper, 
his eyes and mouth wide open, came through the 
bushes. 

“Here, Jasper,” said Tom. “Come on — I 
won’t hurt you.” The boy had stopped, suddenly 
terror-stricken. “Come on, Jasper.” He ap- 
proached cautiously, step by step, holding a pack- 
age before him. He dropped it when Tom put his 
hand out, and hurried back a few feet. “Now, 
Jasper, you go right back to your mammy again,” 
said Tom. “Don’t say a word to anyone.” 

Jasper nodded vigorously, then fled. 

In the package Tom found bread and chicken. 






















rj 


* 

% 





















































































































































































































































































































































“ I didn’t want to come here, Marjorie, for fear I’d get you into 

trouble.” 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 


225 


At first he revolted at the odor of food, then his 
appetite awoke and he wanted to wolf it down. 
Bnt he ate slowly, making his way toward the 
wood as Marjorie had said. He stopped beside 
the stream, where he could watch for her. 

Soon he caught a glimpse of her white dress, 
and he called. She hurried toward him. 

“I read all about it in the Atlanta paper,” she 
said. “You were in the railroad raid, weren’t 
you?” 

“Yes.” 

“I knew . . . Oh, you’re all wet. What hap- 
pened to you? Oh, Tom!” 

“Wet?” he said. “I’ve been wet for so long 
I’ve forgotten about it. You sit down there where 
you can see if anyone is coming. ’ ’ He pointed to 
a log. “I’ll lie here and rest.” He wrapped his 
cape about him, and stretched out on the ground. 
“I didn’t want to come here, Marjorie, for fear 
I’d get you into trouble, but I was starved into it. 
Will you forgive me?” 

“Oh, I’m glad you came. I’ve been worrying 
ever since you left. I didn’t know what you were 
going to do, and I was afraid you’d be caught. 
Then the news of the raid and the stolen engine 
came. I knew that you were one of the men. 
Uncle didn’t guess it until yesterday when he 


226 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

read about it in the Atlanta paper. Tell me about 
it — please!” 

“What did your uncle say? How did he guess 
that I was one of them?” 

“The paper said that some of the men were 
captured, and that they told the story about com- 
ing from Kentucky. When Uncle read that, he 
. . . he . . .” 

“What did he do?” 

“He swore terribly,” answered Marjorie. 
“Aunty sent me from the room. But tell me 
about it. Oh, what’s the matter, Tom?” 

He had risen on his elbows, then fallen back 
on the ground. ‘ 6 Nothing , ’ 9 he said. “I’m dizzy, 
that’s all. Every once in a while it strikes me. 
Wait a second, and I’ll be all right.” 

She knelt beside him and touched his forehead. 
“You’re feverish,” she said. “Oh, Tom . . . 
I . . . can’t I do anything?” 

“Feverish!” exclaimed Tom. “I’m so cold 
that I can’t move. I’m frozen!” His teeth were 
chattering, and he commenced to shiver. “I’ll be 
all right in a minute. Guess I’d better get up.” 
He arose, then sat down abruptly on the log, for 
his legs felt too weak to support him. “I’m sorry, 
Marjorie,” he said. “I’m pretty tired.” 

She watched him, too alarmed to speak. She 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 


227 


exclaimed: “But you are feverish, Tom. Oh, I 
didn’t know. I might have seen that you were 
sick ...” 

The rest of her words were lost in the great 
buzzing noise which filled his head. Everything 
turned black before him — black filled with a thou- 
sand shooting colors; then the world gave a vi- 
cious lurch which toppled him over. He awoke, 
flat on the ground, with Marjorie leaning above 
him, crying and dabbing his forehead with a wet 
handkerchief. 

“Fainted!” he mumbled disgustedly. “Fool 
to faint!” He closed his eyes again to rid 
himself of dizziness. “Big baby! Sorry, Mar- 
jorie.” 

“You must come to the house, Tom,” cried 
Marjorie. “It doesn’t make any difference about 
Uncle. I’ll tell him that he must take you in. He 
must! . . . he must!” 

“No — be all right in a minute. Terribly hot! 
Take this cape off.” He tried to get out of the 
cape, but she stopped him. “It’s too hot,” he 
protested, but he let her draw the cape up more 
tightly about him. 

“Won’t you let me take you to the house?” she 
begged. 

“No — have to get back to the lines.” 


ns TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

“But you can’t, Tom. You’re sick. It’s the 
fever that makes you hot. Oh, Tom . . . ” 

“Got to get back to the lines,” he interrupted. 
“Start in a few minutes. I guess . . . sleep a 
little first. Mustn’t be captured. You wake me 
up if anyone comes. Murdock’s dogs . . . ” 

It was night when his brain cleared again. He 
was wrapped in blankets, lying comfortably on 
the ground. Overhead the branches of the trees, 
black against the sky, waved solemnly. 

“You ’wake, massahf” 

Tom started at the voice. An old negro was 
sitting beside him. 

“Yes — what . . . V 9 

“You jes’ rest quiet,” said the negro. 
“Ev ’thing’s all right. Miss Marjorie, she cornin’ 
soon.” 

Tom closed his eyes and began to unravel the 
tangle of the day’s events. He could remember 
yoices which had circled around him, babbling 
endlessly; two negroes who had taken off his wet 
clothes, put him in dry things and wrapped him 
in blankets ; and Matty, the cook, who had soothed 
him and given him hot drinks. Then Marjorie 
had come. Twice he had awakened and found her 
sitting there. The afternoon was all confusion, 
like some half-forgotten thing of his imagina- 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 229 

tion. But he was comfortable now, and he didn’t 
care. 

He drifted off into an untroubled sleep, and 
awoke again with the sound of voices in his ears. 
In the faint light of the moon, he saw two negroes 
squatting near him. They were talking in whis- 
pers. One of them was saying: 

“01’ Murdock’s dawgs is a-eryin’ and a-moan- 
in’—” 

And the other answered: “Oh, Lor’!” 

“An’ ol’ mammy, she’s a-looking at the tea 
grounds in a cup.” 

“What she say!” 

“She don’ say nothing.” He paused to give 
his words effect. “She got a rabbit foot.” 

“Oh, Lor’!” The negro glanced fearfully 
about them. “Oh, Lor’!” he repeated. “Oh, 
Lor ’ ! Oh, Lor ’ ! ” It had become a wail of terror 
now, a wail so piteous and so moving that Tom 
felt as though an icy cold hand had reached out 
for him, taking away all his strength. The stark 
trees of the lonely, shadow-infested woods seemed 
to press in upon them like an army of fantastic 
giants. The fear which was torturing the negroes 
came over him in a spasm, then passed away. 

“What’s the trouble there!” he demanded 
sharply. 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


230 

The negroes gasped audibly. “ Nothin ’,” an- 
swered one of them presently. It was the negro 
who had been talking about Murdock’s dogs and 
the rabbit’s foot. 

i ‘ What are you getting scared about?” 

“Nothin’,” came the muttered response. 

“Then don’t lose your heads,” replied Tom. 
He sat upright and sagged forward weakly. The 
strength seemed to flow suddenly from his body; 
his legs and arms felt flabby and useless. 
“Whew!” he exclaimed. “I’ll have to do better 
than this. Weak as a baby!” Bracing himself 
on one arm, he flexed the other slowly. The ne- 
groes watched him. 

“Oh, Lor’!” wailed the older negro again. 

“Shut up!” said Tom. 

“0 Lor’ — der’s horses on de road! Now der 
a-coming ! ’ ’ 

Tom listened and heard a faint clatter of hoofs, 
growing louder and louder. It stopped for a mo- 
ment as the horsemen pulled up to round the bend 
into the Beecham’s farm. Then a man yelled, 
“Hey, Beecham! Beecham! Hey, Beecham! 
Come down for a minute. This is Kirby talking. 
We’re on a Yank hunt. Want you to help.” 
There came a muffled response from the house, 
the yelling ceased and the night was quiet again. 


NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE 231 

Tom found himself on his feet, without knowing 
how he managed to get up. He was clinging to 
the trunk of a tree for support. “Here, you,” he 
said to the negroes. “They’re after me. Take 
these blankets and get back to your huts. If they 
catch me they won’t catch me here.” Whimper- 
ing, the negroes scooped up the blankets. 

“Wait!” ordered Tom. “How about these 
clothes? Where ’re mine? If I’m caught in these 
things . . . ” The negroes collected his clothes, 
which had been spread out to dry, and he changed 
rapidly. ‘ ‘ Take everything and get back as 
quickly as you can. Come just as soon as it’s day- 
light to be sure you haven’t left anything. Tell 
Miss Marjorie that I’ve gone . . 

They jumped at the crackling of some under- 
brush near them. It was Marjorie. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 
THE LAST DASH 

‘ 1 Here we are, Marjorie. ’ ’ He went forward to 
meet her. “Thanks a thousand times for all 
you’ve done. You must go back now. I’m going 
on — so that they won’t catch me here.” 

“No, Tom, you can’t go this way,” she an- 
swered, crying. “I won’t let you. Here! — Joe 
and Sam — put those things down and stay here. 
Oh, Tom, they’ll surely catch you if you try it.” 
She clutched his arm as though to hold him from 
running into the woods. 

“But, Marjorie, there’s nothing we can do,” 
he protested. “Please go back. Don’t you see 
what it’ll mean if I’m found near here? If I had 
my horse, the one I sent back from the ferry that 
day ...” 

“It’s in the far pasture — three miles away,” 
she answered. “Kirby ’ll have the whole country 
looking for you by the time we could get it. You’ll 
have to stay here, Tom. I ’ll hide you in the house 
— Matty ’ll hide you over the kitchen. Let me do 
that for you— let me take the risk. Please!” 

232 


THE LAST DASH 


2S$ 

“No! If they get me, they’ll get me in the 
open. No, Marjorie. Go on back*” 

“Then take a horse from the stable. Take my 
horse.” 

“Yours?” 

“Yes. Uncle gave him to me, and I give him 
’to you. You must . . 

“But they’ll know . . . ” 

“No, they won’t ...” 

“But tomorrow when they find . . . ” 

She was facing him squarely, holding to his 
arms and shaking him. “Matty’s husband is the 
stableman. He knows about you. He ’ll say that 
he turned the horse into the pasture. You must 
. . . Joe ! Sam ! Go up to the stable and saddle 
my horse and bring him here. Run ! ’ ’ 

“Yassum,” replied the negroes in a breath. 
They disappeared into the darkness. Tom’s pro- 
test was smothered under Marjorie’s hand. The 
wave of excitement which had kept him on his 
feet passed, and it was as though he had been 
caught in a powerful undertow which swept his 
legs from under him. He sank down on the fallen 
log where they had been sitting together earlier 
in the day. 

“Can you ride? Are you strong enough?” she 
asked anxiously. 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


“Yes — if I once get my legs wrapped around 
him I can stick there. Marjorie, if you’re caught 
at this, all the raid will seem like an immense 
failure.” 

“But I won’t be caught, and I will always be 
proud that you came to me when you needed me, 
when I could help you.” 

“You’re worth a dozen soldiers!” he ex- 
claimed. 

There was a moment of silence. “Poor Tom!” 
she said softly. “It’s all so terrible, isn’t it? 
And so wonderful! You men have left the whole 
South gasping at your bravery. Even Uncle — 
and he hates everything from the North — says 
it’s the most daring thing he’s ever heard of.” 

“But you — you’re from the North.” 

“Yes,” she answered. “We don’t talk about 
the war. He just takes it for granted that I be- 
lieve everything he believes. I’ve been here two 
years now. When mother and father were alive 
I lived in Albany. I’m going back just as soon as 
lean. Listen!” 

There were more horses on the road. 

‘ i They ’re coming to join Kirby, ’ ’ she said. i ‘ 1 
heard him say that more men were coming. When 
Uncle went down to let them in, I went to the head 
of the stairs to hear what they were saying. Uncle 


THE LAST DASH 


235 


took them into the dining-room to give them some- 
thing to eat and drink; then I dressed and stole 
down. * ’ 

‘ ‘ But how did they know that I was in this part 
of the country V 9 

4 4 There was something about a boat. It was 
found ashore a few miles down the river, and 
there was a report from Chattanooga that the 
boat had been taken. I didn’t wait to hear it all. 
Oh, I wish Joe and Sam would hurry! You must 
get started before they leave. Men are going out 
in all directions, and Kirby is taking the road to 
Wartrace. If you’re ahead of him they’ll never 
catch you. Star can run like the wind.” 

“Start” 

“My horse,” she explained. “He’s a beautiful 
horse . . . Oh, I wish they’d hurry.” There 
was anguish in her voice. 

“They’ll come just as fast as they can,” re- 
plied Tom calmly. “Why don’t you go back to 
the house now?” 

“I can’t until you’re on the road.” 

‘ ‘ Why not ? Please go back now. ’ ’ 

“I — I’ll have to wait until the men have gone,. 
I wouldn’t dare to go back until then. Then, 
too . . .” She faltered and stopped. 

“What?” 


23 6 


TOM OF THE HAIDERS 


“You can’t leave by the main road. I’m going 
to show you the way through the woods. Then 
there’s a fence to jump. I’m going to take Star 
over it.” 

It was useless to protest, for she became calm 
again and determined. “I want to do it,” she 
said. “You’ve come to me for help, and it’s my 
right to help you all I can. And remember, I’ll 
always be proud of it. Oh, so proud!” She 
slipped her hand into his and they sat there 
quietly, straining to catch the first sounds of the 
negroes returning. 

“There they are — General Marjorie,” he said 
presently. 

She jumped up and ran to the horse. Tom 
could see her pressing her cheek to the horse’s 
nose, stroking its head and neck. ‘ ‘ Go back now, ’ ’ 
she said to the negroes. “Take everything with 
you. If Matty is up, tell her that I’ll be home in 
a few minutes.” 

“Yas, Miss Marjorie.” Again they took up 
the blankets and clothes, and the night swallowed 
them. 

“Mount, Tom,” ordered Marjorie. “No, 
don’t argue! Hurry! You’ll need all your 
strength.” 


THE LAST DASH £37 

Laboriously, he did as he was told to do. With 
Marjorie leading Star, they made their way 
through the woods. Once she stopped and lis- 
tened. “They haven't started yet," she said. 

A few minutes later she stopped again. 
“There's the fence," she said. “Let me mount 
now. You hold Star while I fix the stirrups." 
He slid to the ground and stood there, while she 
measured the straps with her arms and fixed the 
buckles. He could see her plainly now in the soft 
moonlight which was flooding the world. Ahead 
of them was the black wall of the rail fence. 

“Now," she said, “if you’ll help me mount." 
He held his hands braced against his knees so 
that they formed a step for her. She was up, ad- 
justing herself to the saddle, stroking Star's neck, 
talking to him softly. “You climb the fence and 
wait on the other side, ' ' she ordered. Once again 
he did as he was told to do. 

She brought Star to the fence at an easy trot, 
let him smell it and see it; then she tossed her 
handkerchief to Tom. “Put it on the top rail as 
a marker," she said, as she turned back for the 
run. 

Tom spread the handkerchief on the fence — a 
tiny spot of white to guide Star over. Then he 


£38 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


watched her, as she retreated into the black back- 
ground of the woods, his heart thumping so that 
it hurt. She had thrown aside her cape when she 
mounted, and now she seemed so small and im- 
mature, sitting there on Star’s great back. 

Star’s hoofs pounded upon the soft turf, then 
his body emerged from the shadows. Tom could 
see Marjorie crouching, riding to his gait, holding 
him down for the jump. At the fence there was 
an instant’s pause; Star’s forequarters rose 
slowly, deliberately; then, as easily as though he 
were a great projectile reaching the topmost limit 
of its flight, Star floated over the fence. He had 
cleared it by a foot. 

Marjorie wheeled about, dismounted, and read- 
justed the stirrups. ‘ 1 There!” she said. “Now- — 
now, go.” 

“I can never thank you,” he began. 

“Don’t — please don’t even try,” she inter- 
rupted. “Good luck once again. Good-by, Star 
dear.” She pressed her cheek against the horse’s 
head. “Good-by, Tom. Remember me always.” 

He mounted and for a moment they delayed the 
parting. He reached down and took her hand. 
“Always, little soldier, always,” he said. “Good- 
by.” 

“Listen!” The sounds of shouting came from 


THE LAST DASH 


239 

the Beecham’s. “ They’re starting. Go straight 
ahead until you come to the road, then to your 
left.” 

He gave Star the reins, and above the beat of 
hoofs heard her call: “Good luck, Tom!” He 
glanced back and saw her standing there, her arms 
raised above her head. Then he realized that he 
had her handkerchief, which he had taken from 
the fence, clutched in his hand, so he waved it as 
a last signal of parting before he crammed it in 
his pocket. 

They came to the road suddenly; Star planted 
his feet and slid on the soft earth. Then, when 
they turned northward, Tom could feel all the 
strength of the fine, valiant animal he was ridings 
It was a strength which seemed to flow into the 
road, which carried him forward in long, swing- 
ing leaps. 

“Go it, Star!” he said. “Go it, boy!” In his 
excitement he forgot that he had ever had the 
fever, that his legs had been too weak to carry 
him. He leaned forward, riding easily, peering 
ahead at the road. 

Star was willing, but no horse could stand such 
a pace forever, so he reined in to a trot. After 
he had passed the first farmhouse, he brought the 
horse to a walk. “They ’ll stop there, old fel- 


240 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

low,” he confided. “ You’ve shown them what a 
pair of hind hoofs look like.” 

He remembered the road vaguely from his trip 
southward, but the houses and the little towns 
looked different now in the moonlight. Through 
each settlement he walked Star quietly, but al- 
ways ready to throw himself forward, dig his 
heels into the horse’s flanks and race away. An 
hour passed . . . two hours . . . three hours. 
They pressed northward steadily, sometimes at a 
walk but usually at a comfortable, steady trot, and 
always saving energy for that last dash if the 
need arose. 

The first light of dawn found him a mile south 
of Manchester. 4 ‘Guess we’d better begin to step 
lively, Star,” he said, reaching forward and 
stroking the horse’s neck. Star snorted and 
shook his head. They trotted around a bend in 
the road. Ahead of them Tom distinguished a 
man who had dismounted and was standing be- 
side his horse. 

“Get ready, boy,” he whispered, reining in 
slightly. 

“Hey! You!” called the man. “Where ’re 
you going?” 

Tom held his reins in his left hand, and took 
off his hat with his right hand. 


THE LAST DASH 241 

“None of your business !” he replied. Then 
with his hat he slapped the man’s horse on the 
head. He whooped, and dug his heels into Star’s 
flanks. As they shot forward, he saw the other 
horse rear up, pawing the air. The man — he 
had the reins wrapped about his arm — was 
yanked from his feet and sent sprawling. Tom, 
flat against Star’s neck, with the black mane 
whipping his face, sped down the road — past 
the spot where they had met Andrews that 
first day of the raid, past the Widow Fry’s 
and down the one street of Manchester at a full 
gallop. 

“Keep it up, Star!” he urged. “Go it, Star! 
We’re almost there, old boy. Go it, Star!” But 
there was little need of urging; Star’s forelegs 
were reaching out mechanically for the road, clip- 
ping it off in huge sections. Each leap seemed 
like a convulsion. His neck was outstretched and 
his head was thrust forward as though he were 
devouring the road. 

Tom did not look back, but he cast out short, 
broken sentences to console his pursuer. “Huh! 
Bace me — on that hunk o’ — dog meat. Get a — 
horse ! If you want to — race me — get a — horse. 
A horse that can-run! We’ll race — anything 
that — wears f our legs . W on ’t we — Star f Huh ! ’ ’ 


242 TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

Presently he eased Star’s gait, for the horse 
was beginning to breath too heavily. 6 4 Guess they 
won’t bother about us,” he remarked. “Wonder 
how much ground we covered then. Must be 
pretty close . . . ” 

“Halt!” 

It was a cry that brought a yell of exultation 
to Tom’s lips. There was no mistaking it. No 
civilian could say halt in that tone. 

Tom pulled on the reins and Star planted his 
feet; they went sliding past the Sentry with his 
rifle glinting in the moonlight. “Halt there!” 
came the second warning as Star came to a stop. 

‘ 1 Put your hands up ! ” 

Tom dropped the reins and raised his hands. 
Star, almost winded, seemed propped upon his 
legs, rather than standing upon them. His 
head drooped and each breath came as a great 
heave. 

“Who are you?” demanded the Sentry. 

“Friend,” answered Tom. 

“Password?” 

“Haven’t got it. I’m . . . ” 

‘ ‘ Keep your hands up, ’ ’ interrupted the Sentry ; 
then he bawled out : 4 4 Sergeant o ’ the gua-r-r-d. 
Post number-r six” The call was repeated as 
though by an echo. 


THE LAST DASH 243 

“I’m one of the railroad raiders/ ’ continued 
Tom. “I’m . . 

“What?” yelled the Sentry. “Are you one of 
them ? Say! Put those hands down and let me 
shake ’em. Say!” 


CHAPTER TWENTY 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 

The Sergeant, with four men, came on the 
double quick, and found Tom and the Sentry 
standing in the middle of the road talking. The 
Sentry’s gun stood neglected, leaning against a 
tree. 

“What does this mean, Cummins ?” demanded 
the Sergeant. 

“Here’s one of the raiders,” answered the Sen- 
try, as though that was enough to account for 
almost any negligence. And it was enough, for 
the Sergeant forgot the Sentry completely. He 
grabbed Tom’s hand. 

“That was a wonderful job you boys did down 
there,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you 
and watching all along the line. ’ ’ 

“Am I the first one through?” asked Tom. 

“I guess so. Are there any more behind you?” 

“I don’t know. I got separated from the 
others. There were three of us, and the other 
two were captured. Are you sure that none of 

244 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 245 

them reached the line on the other side of Chatta- 
nooga?” he asked anxiously. 

“We haven ’t heard of any,” answered the Ser- 
geant. “The whole country’s waiting for you, 
and I guess we’d have heard of it if any had come 
through the lines. Say, when the news of the raid 
came out, the North just went crazy with ex- 
citement. 9 7 

One of the men added : “And I guess the South 
did some going crazy, too.” 

“I have to sit down,” remarked Tom suddenly. 
“Sorry, hut my legs don’t seem to be much good.” 

“We’ve got to be getting on and report to the 
Captain. You’d better climb on your horse,” re- 
marked the Sergeant. 

“I’ll walk the rest of the way, thanks,” said 
Tom. “Star’s done about enough work for one 
night. Wait a minute and I’ll be all right.” 

“Have a hard time getting through?” asked 
one of the men. 

“Oh, not so very hard,” replied Tom. The 
memory of all the miseries of that long chase 
seemed dulled in his mind now. “The worst of 
it was that I was wet all the time, wet to the skin. 
Then I didn’t have anything to eat for about two 
days. Got a little touch of the fever.” 

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the Sergeant. “Say, 


246 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


that’s a good horse you’ve got there! Where did 
you find it ! ’ ’ 

“ Maybe I’ll tell you after the war’s over,” an- 
swered Tom. 

“Ah! Well, you had luck, anyhow.” 

“Yep,” answered Tom. He put his hand into 
his pocket and clutched Marjorie’s handkerchief. 
“Yep, I had luck, all right enough. I can walk 
now, I guess. Let’s go report to the Captain.” 

It was daylight when they reached the head- 
quarters of the guard. The Sentry posted before 
the door watched them approach, then called out : 
“ ’Lo there, Serg. Got a Johnny Reb for our 
breakfast!” 

“Reb nothing!” replied the Sergeant. “This 
boy’s one of the raiders.” 

The Sentry’s jaw dropped slightly. He stared 
for a moment, then turned and bolted through the 
door, yelling back over his shoulder, “I’ll get the 
Captain out. Isn’t up yet.” 

They entered the house, and Tom dropped into 
the first chair he reached. “Sergeant,” he said, 
“have one of your men take care of my horse. He 
can have some water now.” 

“All right, Lieutenant.” 

“I’m no Lieutenant — I’m a private, a raw 
recruit.” 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 247 

“Huh!” grunted the Sergeant incredulously. 

“That’s the truth.” 

“Well, if you ain’t a Lieutenant you ought to 
be and I’ll bet my stripes that you will be. Hey, 
Max, you go out and see that the Lieutenant’s 
horse is taken care of.” 

From upstairs they could hear the sound of 
voices and the scurrying of feet. Presently some- 
one clattered down the stairs. The door swung 
open and the Captain entered, buttoning his coat- 

“Glad to see you, my boy!” he exclaimed. 
“Don’t bother about getting up. You can go. 
Sergeant.” He drew a chair up close to Tom’s; 
then as the Sergeant started to leave the room, 
he said, “Have my messenger ready to travel* 
Give him the fastest horse we’ve got in the place.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now, tell me about it. In the first place, 
what’s your name and regiment!” 

“Tom Burns, private, Company B, Second 
Ohio,” answered Tom proudly. With the Cap- 
tain jotting down notes, he told the first accurate 
story of the raid up to the moment when they had 
abandoned the train; then of his own experiences 
in escaping. “I finally reached this side of the 
river on the flatboat, and swam ashore. That was 
yesterday morning. Let’s see — was it yesterday 


248 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


or the day before V 9 He looked back over the 
tangle of nights and days, and thought for a mo- 
ment. “Yes, it was yesterday morning. I’m 
sorry that I’m so confused, but so many things 
have happened that I’m all mixed up.” 

“I understand,” said the Captain. 

“Then . . . ” continued Tom. He stopped. 
“No, I can’t tell you any more. Another person 
helped me. If it hadn’t been for that person I 
would never have reached the lines. And if it 
ever got out they’d make a lot of trouble for 
” He caught himself on the verge of saying 
“her,” and added, “for that person.” 

“Well,” said the Captain, “that’s of no im- 
portance to us. It makes no difference. The point 
is that you’re back again.” 

“It’s of importance to me, I can tell you,” said 
Tom. 

“Hm-m-m, I guess so. All right, Tom Burns, 
I’m going to send a messenger to get this news on 
the wire to headquarters. You’re about worn 
out. Sorry that there ’s just one bed here. That ’s 
the one I’ve just climbed out of, but you’re wel- 
come to it.” 

“Couldn’t ask for anything better,” replied 
Tom sleepily. He arose and stretched his tired 
muscles. “Will you make sure that my horse is 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 249 

being properly cared for, Captain? He’s a fine 
horse . . . Where is that bed, Captain?” 

It was evening when he awoke, and he remained 
awake long enough to eat some food which an or- 
derly brought for him. Then, with the intention 
of getting up after a few minutes, he closed his 
eyes again. The next thing he knew it was day- 
light again. He jumped out of bed and opened 
the door. 

“Good morning,” called a soldier as Tom 
peered out. “Have a good nap, young man?” 

“What day is this, anyhow?” demanded Tom. 
“How long have I been sleeping?” 

“Just twenty-four hours, that’s all,” answered 
the soldier. 

“Hello, Bums.” It was the Captain. “How 
are you?” 

“Fine! But I’m ashamed of myself for cheat- 
ing you out of your bed. ’ ’ 

“You’ve earned a bed, my boy. Get some 
clothes on and we’ll have breakfast. Can you 
travel today?” 

“Yes.” 

“A message came from Mitch el at Huntsville* 
He wants to see you.” 

And so Tom, mounted upon Star and accom- 
panied by the Captain’s messenger, retraced the 


250 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


road to Shelbyville and followed the course of 
Mitchel’s army southward. All along the route, 
when the news spread that one of the raiders was 
passing through, they were surrounded by sol- 
diers, who wanted to hear the story and to shake 
hands. Finally Tom begged the messenger not 
to tell people who he was, not to mention the raid. 
“We’ll never get to Huntsville if this keeps up,” 
he said. 

It was noon of the third day when they reined 
their horses in at the outskirts of the town, and 
exhibited their pass to a Sentry. “Let ’em past, 
boys,” yelled the Sentry. “Here’s the raider!” 
They trotted into Huntsville with the soldiers 
yelling. And it was all that Tom could do to keep 
from yelling. Now, for the first time, the full ex- 
ultation of being back again struck him; but he sat 
speechless, stroking Star’s neck nervously. 

They pulled up before headquarters. 

“Tom!” 

Tom glanced about and saw Bert running 
toward him. 

“Bert!” 

Tom jumped from Star’s back, tossed the reins 
to the messenger and they met as though in col- 
lision. * 4 Good work, Tom ! When the word came, 
the company went wild. The Captain got leave 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 251 

for me to come up here and meet you. Go on in 
and report to the General. I’ll be out here wait- 
ing for you. ’ ’ Bert thumped him on the back and 
started him towards the door. 

Tom followed the Sergeant of the Guard into 
the anteroom, and stood, ill at ease, looking out 
of the windows into the yard, until the General 
could receive him. Presently the door behind him 
opened, and he turned, expecting to see the Ser- 
geant. Instead, it was General Mitchel himself. 
Tom snapped to attention. 

“ Welcome back again, Private Burns,” boomed 
the General. He approached and their hands met 
with a smack ! The General was beaming. “Glad 
to see you, hoy. I’m proud of you. Come in 
here.” He took Tom’s arm and led him toward 
the private office. 

“Now let’s have the yarn,” said the General, 
lighting a cigar and leaning back in his chair. 
Tom glanced about him and saw that the office 
had originally been a dining-room. The family 
table, which was strewn with maps, served as the 
General’s desk, and the disorder of the chairs 
showed that there had been a recent meeting of 
the staff. On the sideboard were the remains of 
the General’s lunch, which he had just finished* 

“Am I the first one back?” asked Tom. 


253 TOM OF THE HAIDERS 

“Yes — the only one who has returned. I had 
just about given you all up as captured.’ ’ 

“Then you think the others are . . . pris- 
oners ? ’ ’ 

“Afraid so — yes. When was it you captured 
the train — Friday or Saturday?” 

“Saturday, sir.” 

“Hm-m-m, I thought so. That was what the 
reports from the South said, but I couldn’t be 
sure. And how was it you didn’t take the train 
on Friday, as we planned? But, perhaps, you’d 
better tell me the story right from the beginning.” 

Once again, Tom started with his departure 
from Murfreesboro and told in detail of the 
movements of the raiders. The General listened 
intently, scratching down occasional notes; pres- 
ently he arose and spread a map before them. 
Then, with their chairs close together, the Gen- 
eral and the Private traced out the course of the 
raiders and the progress of the locomotive race 
up to the point where Andrews had given the 
order to abandon the engine and scatter. 

“Hm-m-m, if he’d only stopped to fight — at the 
tunnel, say . . .” remarked the General. 

“That’s what we wanted to do,” answered 
Tom, “but he wouldn’t.” 

“Of course,” said the General, “we have to re- 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 253 

member that Andrews was not a soldier — he was 
a spy, and accustomed to another way of work- 
ing. Too bad. . . . Luck was dead against you, 
I’m afraid.” 

The General leaned back again and looked at 
him narrowly as he told the story of his flight 
from the hotel and across the Tennessee. Tom 
continued : 

“I would have been captured surely if it hadn’t 
been for a certain person who took care of me, and 
gave me a horse. The whole countryside was get- 
ting up to search the woods for me. They were 
bringing the dogs out. Then I got the horse ; we 
cut through the fields ahead of them. That’s all. 
I raced until I tumbled into the arms of a Sen- 
try.” 

The General drummed on the table with his pen, 
and emitted great puffs of smoke. “Hm-m-m!” 
he said. “Hm-m-m! Not entirely successful, but 
a great blow at the South all the same. I’m proud 
of you men, Burns — mighty proud of you.” He 
was silent for a moment, then: “I’m going to 
recommend you for a commission.” 

“Thank you, sir,” gasped Tom. 

“You’ve earned it. You can go up North for 
training, and join us again later — a Lieutenant. 
How’ll you like that!” 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


254 

4 ‘I’d like to have a commission, of course, 
but . . 

“But what?” 

“Why, you see, General, I’m nothing but a re- 
cruit, I’ve never even worn a uniform.” 

“What?” exclaimed the General. Tom told 
him how he had come to take part in the raid, how 
he had been sworn into the service just before his 
departure. “Well,” said the General at last, 
“that really makes no difference. You’re officer 
caliber, and that’s enough.” 

“All the same, General, I think I’d like to go 
to my company, and get some experience. Com- 
pany B is in the fight now, isn’t it?” 

“Experience!” exclaimed the General. 

“Experience as a soldier, I mean,” Tom re- 
plied. 

“Of course, of course,” the General an- 
swered, laughing. “Yes, Company B is in the 
fight. All right, my boy, all right. We’ll send 
you there — for experience! — and then North 
you go and learn the business of being an 
officer. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thank you, sir. ’ ’ 

The interview was at an end. They stood up 
and shook hands. Tom suddenly remembered 
Star. “By the way, sir,” he said. “A private 


TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS 255 

doesn’t generally have a Kentucky thoroughbred, 
does he?” 

‘ ‘ Not generally.” 

4 4 Well, sir, I have one, but I guess the time for 
Star and me to part has come. Will you take it? 
The person who gave Star to me is a good North- 
erner. The . . . the person would be proud to 
have the horse ridden by a General.” 

“Do you think that the person ” — the General 
smiled — “would be any prouder to have a General 
riding the horse than she — pardon me! — than to 
have you riding it?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Tom, with a grin. 
“But I know she’ll be mighty proud just the 
same.” 

“All right, my boy.” The General called one 
of his aides and instructed him to see that Tom 
reached Company B. They shook hands again and 
Tom walked out of the headquarters building to 
find Bert waiting for him. The railroad raid had 
ended. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 


THAT CERTAIN PERSON 

Long years of warfare passed; then came the 
day when war was over, and Captain Tom Burns 
strolled down the avenue in Washington, linked 
arm in arm with Brown and Knight. Behind 
them sauntered the surviving members of the 
raiders. Each of them wore a medal of honor, 
which had been pinned to their coats that after- 
noon. 

“ You’re going straight home, I suppose, 
Tom?” asked Brown. 

“No — no, I’m going to Albany. Someone I 
have to see there. I was home, on a furlough just 
a few weeks ago.” 

“It’s just about my train time,” said Knight. 
“I’ll have to be getting to the station.” 

“Wait a minute while we say good-by to the 
boys, and I’ll go with you,” said Tom. They 
stopped while the others came up. The moment 
of parting had come, and silence fell over them. 
Some of the men had escaped from prison camps, 
256 


THAT CERTAIN PERSON 257 

others had been exchanged, and this meeting had 
been a great event in their lives. For two days 
they had lived their experiences once again, ex- 
changing stories and discussing the raid. 

“ Good-by, boys,” said Knight, breaking the 
pall of silence. “You all have my address. Let 
me know when you Ye around my part of the 
country. ' ' 

“Same goes for me,” said several of them. 
“Don't forget, now. Good-by, Tom. 'By, 
Knight. Here, let 's shake that paw again. Drop 
me a line, eh V ' 

“ 'By, boys,” said Tom, untangling, himself 
from the group. He looked back and waved. 

Two days later in Albany Tom presented him- 
self at the Mayor's office. “I've come on a pe- 
culiar errand, ' ' he explained. 4 ‘ One time when 
I was in the South, a Northern girl, who was living 
there, befriended me and saved pie from being 
taken prisoner. Her name was Marjorie Landis, 
and she told me that she had lived here. She said 
she was coming back to Albany just as soon as the 
war was over. I want you to help me find her, if 
it's not asking too much.” 

The Mayor smiled. “You don’t 1 happen to be 
Tom Burns of the raiders, by any chance, do 
you?” he asked. 


258 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 


Tom jumped. “Yes — but how . . . ” His 
voice dwindled off in amazement. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, young man. Yes, 
I think that if you’ll go to this address” — he 
wrote on a slip of paper — “and ask for Miss Lan- 
dis, you’ll find someone who’ll be very glad to 
see you. Don’t even stop to thank me — you hurry 
along. ’ ’ 

Tom needed no urging. He sped from the of- 
fice, signaled a cab and gave the driver the paper. 
“Let that horse move his legs,” he ordered. 

“Yes, sir.” 

They pulled up presently before a big brown- 
stone house. 

“Tell Miss Landis that Captain Burns is call- 
ing,” he told the servant. 

“Yes, Captain. Will you come this way, sir?” 
He was ushered into a parlor, where he waited 
nervously; then he heard footsteps on the 
stairs. 

“Tom — Tom Burns!” Marjorie bounded into 
the room. 

“Marjorie!” 

They stood looking at each other, speechless. 
She was the first to collect herself. “I’m so glad 
you’ve come,” she said. “I’ve wondered and 
wondered about you.” 


THAT CERTAIN PERSON 259 

“But you knew I’d come if I could, didn’t 
you?” 

“I thought so — I hoped so.” 

‘ 4 For one thing, I have a horse and a handker- 
chief of yours.” 

“Star! Is he still alive? Oh, tell me about it. 
But, no — tell me about yourself first.” 

That evening, long after dinner, they finished 
their stories. Marjorie had come North six 
months before ; the Beechams had never suspected 
her of having given him her horse. “The peo- 
ple,” she said, “went mad scurrying about the 
country after you. I don’t know what they would 
have done if they had suspected me. I don’t like 
to think of it.” 

“I’ve been worrying about you ever since,” an- 
swered Tom. “I could have hugged that Mayor 
when he told me that you were here and safe.” 

“Wasn’t it strange that you went directly to 
him? He’s one of our best friends.” 

“I couldn’t think of anyone else to go to.” 

And he told of the battles he had fought, of his 
promotions and all that had befallen him. ‘ 1 I rode 
Star all through the year of ’63, after I was at- 
tached to the Headquarters Staff. General 
Mitch el gave him back to me. He said, ‘I don’t 
suppose you’d like to have that Certain Person’s 


260 


TOM OF THE RAIDERS 

horse again, would you?’ I said, ‘I would, but I 
don’t dare to take a General’s horse away from 
him. ’ Good old Star ! When winter set in I de- 
cided that he’d seen about enough war, so I sent 
him home. He is in the country near Cleveland 
now on a furlough, waiting for his mistress to ride 
him again.” Tom pulled out the small handker- 
chief. “But I’d like to keep this,” he said. “It 
has brought me luck. I’m superstitious about it.” 

“Please keep it,” she said. “I hope it’ll al- 
ways bring you luck.” 

He arose to go. “I’ll be back just as soon as I 
can, ’ ’ he said, then he added : “ to bring Star. ’ ’ 

“Is that the only reason?” 

“It isn’t a reason,” he replied severely. “It’s 
an excuse. ” 


THE END 


























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